Blood, Bullets, and Broads
by Nataku's Wrath
Summary: Walk down the right back alley in Sin City and you can find anything. Even Mutants. All the stories of SIN CITY, retold Xmen style. When things go from bad to worst, can Remy beat the odds and save the lives of those he loves? Read and Review!
1. The Customer is Always Right

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to either Sin City or The X-Men.

* * *

"Blood, Bullets, and Broads"

SIN CITY

"The Customer is Always Right"

There's a siren blaring in the distance. The noise is so familiar, so common in this city of blood and misfortune.

She walks out onto the large, stony balcony. The party inside, though luxurious and high class, is boring her to tears. There were too many young professionals trying to impress her with their stock portfolios and Ivy-League charm. The food wasn't even that good…

She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree. Though her elegant red evening gown clung to every sexy, alluring curve, its silky fabric did little to shield her body form the cold wind.

I let her hear my footsteps. She only goes stiff for a moment. She keeps her back to me, never looking back as I approach.

"Care for a smoke?" I ask politely. She slowly turned around, taking in my appearance. My blonde hair, blue eyes, the expensive black suit I had tailor made for the party. Her eyes pause for a brief moment as she sets her eyes on the two large, white, feathery wings sprouting from underneath my jacket. She doesn't stare, people rarely do. Such uncommon attributes are common in Basin City these days.

"Sure, I'll take one," she answers as she takes the offered cigarette. "Are you as bored by that crowd as I am?" she asks. I return the pack of cigarettes to my coat pocket before answering.

"I didn't come here for the party. I came here for you," I admitted. She lowers the unlit cigarette from her mouth, intrigued.

"I've watched you for days," I continued. "You're everything a man could ever want. It's not just your face or your figure," I add as my eyes drift over her slim, striking body. "Or your voice."

She lifts her cigarette back to her mouth as I produce my lighter from my pocket. The spark flashes and a small flame flickers in the wind. The small light from the flame illuminates her face as she leans in to light the cigarette. Her eyes flash in the light, like two pools of shimmering emeralds.

"It's your eyes," I say as she leans back and takes a drag off her smoke. She exhales a small puff of cloud to the side. "All the things I see in your eyes."

A small smile turns the corner of her ruby-shaded lips. She turns her back to me, overlooking the balcony once more.

"What is it you see in my eyes?" she asks coyly.

I take a step closer to her. "I see a crazy calm. You're sick of running. You're ready to face what you have to face. But you don't want to face it alone.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a storm is approaching quickly. She takes a deep breath before answering me.

"No," she says. "I don't want to face it alone. Drops of rain begin to fall as she turns around and closes the gap between us.

The wind rises electric. We lean into one another and embrace. She's soft and warm and almost weightless. Her perfume a sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes. The rain begins to fall harder and more regularly. She breaks the kiss and places her head against my chest. I hold her close against my heart. I tell her everything will be all right. That I'll save her from whatever she's scared of and take her far, far away. Our lips meet again briefly. I tell her I love her.

_Pfft…_

The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot. I hold her close, wrapping my wings around her until she's gone. As she breathed her last, the skin on her outstretched hand began to darken. It changed from a pale white to the dark blue lacquer of her fingernails. The transformation raced up her arm and across her body, like ripples over a pond. Her hair grew longer and became a dark autumn red. The light in her green eyes faded as her irises changed into pools of bright yellow. Her body shudders once more then lies still forever.

I'll never know what she was running from. I bow my head and kiss her forehead one last time.

I'll cash her check in the morning…


	2. Summers

Blood, Bullets, and Broads

Chapter 1

"Summers"

* * *

Just one hour to go. My last day on the job. Early retirement. Not my idea. Doctor's orders. Heart condition. "Angina," he calls it.

I'm driving fast in my convertible with the top down, even though it's October and is starting to be cold. The wind blows through my brown hair as I loosen my tie. I reach into my glove compartment and remove my visor and gloves. I close my eyes and slip my ruby shades off. The ruby lenses are a safeguard against the bazookas I have instead of eyes. My visor is made of the same stuff, just stronger and better built for rough situations. And things are going to get rough. I snap the visor into place and make sure the safety is flipped on. I slide the gloves onto my hands. In the center of each glove is a round activation plate. Pressing it de-polarizes the visor, unleashing the caged fury waiting behind it. A button on both sides of the visor performs the same function. Above the visor is a large, white scar in the shape of an "X", a memento from the job.

I pull out my badge and look at it. 'Basin City,' it says. '#1067.' I'm polishing my badge and getting myself used to the idea of saying goodbye to it.

It, and the 30-odd years of protecting and serving and tears and the blood and terror and triumph it represents. Funny how a small piece of engraved bronze can mean so many things. I put in my label pocket; its gleaming surface reflected the streetlights as I approach the docks.

I'm thinking about Madelyne's slow smile. About the thick, fat steaks she picked up at the butcher's today.

And I'm thinking about the one loose end I haven't tied up. The reason why I'm speeding towards the docks instead of heading home. A young girl who's out there somewhere, helpless in the hands of a drooling lunatic.

I pull up to the docks and my partner Bobby Drake, the Iceman, is already there waiting for me. I didn't even tell I was coming. Damn kid's even wearing his fancy sunglasses at night. His pricey black trench coat flaps in the wind as he approaches my car.

"Damn it, Summers, I won't let you do this. You're gonna get yourself killed."

I get out of my car and slam the door closed. He grabs my arm as I walk past him.

"You're gonna get us both killed," he says. "I won't let you. I'm warning you."

"Let go of my coat, Bobby," I growl as I pull myself free roughly. I storm off towards the warehouse on the waterfront. Bobby's following close behind, still flapping his mouth.

"You're dragging me down with you," he continues. "I'm your partner. They can kill me too. I ain't puttin' up with that. I'm getting on the horn and calling for backup." What a hero. I stop and turn around angrily; my eyes flash rage from behind myvisor.

"Sure Bobby. We'll just wait. Sit on our hands while that Maximoff brat gets his sick thrills with victim number four. Victim number four!" I repeat angrily, getting right in Bobby's face. I'm so close I can see my reflection in his Oakley's.

"Emma Frost, age 11. And she'll be raped and slashed to ribbons." A bit of spit splashes off Bobby's sunglasses. He removes them to wipe it off. I don't let up.

"And that backup that we're waiting on will just happen to show up just late enough for Maximoff to get back to his U.S. Senator Daddy." Damn that felt good to say. I finish my rant and turn to walk away. Bobby puts his shades back on before speaking.

"Take a deep breath, Cyke," he says, using the abbreviation of my nickname that he knows I hate. "Settle down and think straight. You're pushing 50 and you got a bum ticker. You ain't saving anyone."

That stops me in my tracks. Thanks for reminding me, Bobby.

"You got a great attitude Bobby. Real credit to the force you are," I reply, my back still turned.

"Madelyne's at home waiting for you, Scott. Think about Madelyne."

My thoughts return to Madelyne, sitting at home. I can see her sitting in her favorite chair, waiting for me. Her long red hair tossed over one shoulder, her green eyes brightly greeting me as I come in. No words are necessary; I know how much she worries. I take her in my arms and tell her it's all over. No more waiting up nights worrying. No more danger, no more hurt. Sounds great.

"Heck Bobby." I turn back around and face him. "Maybe you are right," I admit.

"Well, I'm glad to hear your finally talkin sense," Bobby smiles.

WHAM!

My punch hits Bobby right upside his head, breaking his fancy sunglasses. He goes down in a heap. Kid never could take a punch. Hell of a way to end a partnership. Hell of a way to start my retirement. Madelyne would forgive me one more night on the job. I don't think she'd forgive me if I let this one go, if I abandoned this little girl.

One last hoorah. One last chance to do something right.

I glance over Bobby one last time before I head towards the warehouses. I don't give him another thought. Only one this is going through my head now: Emma Frost, age 11. For all I know she's dead already…

---X---

Meanwhile, in an abandoned warehouse somewhere on the waterfront,

A scared little girl sits alone in the dark, her hands and feet bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, her cheeks streaked with lines from tears.

A door opens with the harsh squeak of rusty metal and a beam of light flashes into the room. She can see a shadow, one of the men that took her after school yesterday. Was it yesterday? She couldn't remember. It felt as if she had been sitting in that dark for days, even weeks. Her young mind could no longer comprehend time, only fear.

"You've been a very good girl, Emma." His voice was low and calm. It hid little of its true self, its sick, disturbing nature. "You've been very quiet." The man crept closer and Emma let out a small whimper. "Don't be scared," he assured her in a smooth slow whisper. "We're going to be taking you out of here really soon. But first, we're going to introduce you to somebody." Emma's eyes grew wide in fright. Her breathers became hurried gasps.

"He's a very nice man," said the shadow as it loomed directly over her. Emma could barely hold back her scream as a pair of strong, rough hands grabbed her.

---X---

I walk through the forest of abandoned warehouses and empty storerooms quickly. The paths are dark, shadowy; there aren't many streetlamps still working in this area.

I'm halfway to the warehouse where Xavier said they took her, and it hits. I double over as a flash of pain burns my chest. Wicked spot of indigestion. At least that's what I pray it is. Amidst my pain, I can make out a voice nearby.

"…lighthearted and momentary digression. The briefest indulgence in automobile pleasure."

"For cheap thrills," a new voice responded. "Such sweet lived durability, Mr. Bohusk. You would risk engender-ating ill will on the part of our employers."

I crept along the alley's wall and hid around its corner, got a good look at the two. One was a tall, ugly man dressed in a tasteless brown cloak and pants. He had too large a nose and his gray hair was greasy and unkempt. The other wasn't entirely human. He was shorter than his comrade, but had feathers instead of hair. He had a large beak instead of a normal nose and mouth. Large feathers hung from his arms like a set of half-formed wings. Barnell Bohusk, aka Beak, and Jason Wyngarde, aka Mastermind: two any-dirty-job-there-is thugs with delusions of eloquence.

"This Jaguar you so pinheadly covet temporarily remanded to our custody, though it may be, remains the property of the son of Senator Lehnsherr," said Wyngarde.

There was a piece of discarded pipe lying on the ground next to me. I pick it up as quietly as I can. It makes a quick scraping sound against the pavement as I stand up.

Gotta keep this quiet. Take 'em down fast. Can't risk an optic blast yet. I snuck out from the corner as Wyngarde continued his speech to the imprudent Beak.

"A single dent, the merest scratch there upon, and the before-mentioned consequences of which I so recently made mention shall surely be athwart us."

The two Shakespearean goons never heard me coming, or saw my shadow loom over them.

THWANG!

My bit of pipe rang of the bird-like skull of Beak. He fell to the ground with no more than a soft escape of air. Wyngarde managed to pull a small gun out of his cloak, didn't give him a chance to use it. I knocked it out of his hand before turning my pipe on his greasy head, knocking him out cold. It all took about ten seconds, quick with no noise.

All this action and excitement must have done something to my chest. My heartbeat drowns out all other noise in my ears as another wave of pain hits. I groan; this is no flash of indigestion. I grit my teeth and try to will it to stop. Catch your breath. Give your heart time to slow down. But it won't slow down. I stumble over to the warehouse wall and lean heavily against it. It's hard to breathe. The pain has a vice-grip on my chest, squeezing the life out of me. Get over it. Think past the pain, old man. She needs you.

---X---

"We're all done here Benny," the psycho says calmly coolly. "Let's give them some time to together. Give them some privacy." His identical twin turns his head to look over his shoulder. Both men are dressed in identical long, black coats. They both had trim goatees and had matching haircuts.

"Be with you in a minute, Lenny," he says in the same calm tone his brother used. "I'm just making sure they get along really well." As he speaks a figure strolls out from the darkness of the warehouse.

"What kind of a beast couldn't get along with a precious little girl like this?" he asks to no one in particular as he stepped out into the light. He's a young man, somewhere in his early to mid twenties. His stark white hair, slicked back, shown brightly in the glow of the street lamps. He was dressed in a long, expensive jacket made of finely treated leather. Not the type of jacket normally found in Sin City. It shimmered in the low light with a flair only exotic designer products have. A patterned shirt and silk tie could be seen underneath its folds. He was the son of the state's most powerful Senator. His name was Pietro Maximoff.

He crouches down in front of the terrified girl, causally shifting his trademark "antennas", two long locks of hair that weren't slicked back with the rest of his hair, out of his face. His voice drips with an accented charm, another sign of his upper-class upbringing. He trembles slightly. Not like the girl, who trembles in fear, but with a sadistic excitement. "All we're gonna do is have a nice little talk."

Emma looks up, tears freely flowing down her pale cheeks. Her eyes are still wide with fear and her skinny frame quivers with fear.

"That's all," continued Pietro, trying to keep her calm. "Just a nice talk. Just you and me." His words practically drip with venom and Emma takes no comfort in them. A small sob escapes her trembling lips. Pietro grins with excitement and lust.

"Don't you cry now," he says sharply. His voice barely contained his growing sick desires. "Don't you cry now."

---X---

I fumble with the bottle of pills I keep in my coat. Doctor said it would be like this. Just take the pill he gave you. I shake out a handful of the hard caplets and choke them down. I try to stand on my own. I lean away from the wall, just before another wave of pain slams into my chest. Worst one yet. Knocks me flat on my face. I slam my fist onto the cold pavement with a heavy grunt. The pain starts to subside as the pills kick in.

I make it to one knee and flick the safety off on my visor. It glows ruby red as it activates. No need to play it quiet. I struggle to my feet. Not anymore. I make it upright, still breathing heavily. My fists clench around my visor's activation buttons. I've wasted too much time already. Emma is still out there somewhere.

I take a deep, but haggard breath. Breathe steady old man. Prove you're not completely useless. I start walking again. My chest hurts with every step, but I block it out. Dead man walking, that's the old saying. My number's been called, probably won't make it through the night anyway.

What the hell? Go out with a bang. Like one of those real heroes you see on TV.

I keep walking trying to focus on the files on Pietro Maximoff instead of the burning sensation in my chest. 'He likes to hear 'em scream,' the file said. I've seen his victims and their twisted little faces, all wide-mouthed and bug-eyed, frozen in their last horrible moment of living. I reach the warehouse door where they're keeping Emma. There's no sound, not even a whisper.

I creep up and put my ear to the door. No screams. Either I'm just in time or I'm way too late…

I slam my shoulder into the door with a loud roar. The old wood shattered into splinters. Maximoff's two bodyguards, the twins Benny and Lenny, nearly jump out of their skins in surprise. They both tried to draw their guns, but were too slow. I pushed the button on the side of my visor and crimson destruction blasts both the twins, one right after the other. They don't move much after that.

BAM!

Something hard tears through my shoulder with a spurt of blood. I fall to my knees in pain, again. Pietro Maximoff ran out of the shadows behind me, carrying the kicking and struggling Emma. I can see Emma's eyes as Maximoff ran out the door behind me. Her eyes were huge, frightened like a deer caught in a car's headlights. She looks right at me and for a brief moment I see something in her eyes, something behind all that fear. Hope. There was a small twinkle of hope left, hope and faith in me. This undying faith that I'm going to save her. New energy fills my body and suddenly the pain in my shoulder and chest aren't as bad. I take a look at the wound on my right shoulder. It's nothing. Barely a flesh wound. On your feet, old man.

---X---

The dossier on Pietro Maximoff said his known alias was Quicksilver, that he could move at superhuman speed. But it doesn't matter how fast you can run, you're not going to get very far carrying a kicking and thrashing 11 year old girl. Pietro made it to a small, wooden dock. There was supposed to be a speedboat here waiting for him. He frantically looks left and right at the dark river. Where the hell is Beak and Wyngarde? He grinds his teeth and growls in frustration,

"Maximoff!"

He spins around. He's still holding Emma in his arms and has a gun trained on her frightened form.

"Give it up," I say calmly. "Let the girl go." Blood from my shoulder is flowing freely now, ruining my jacket. My arm's starting to go numb. My breathing is getting heavier; it's been a long night. Maximoff notices my fatigue.

"You can't do a goddamn thing to me, Summers!" Pietro shouts at me, slowly backing towards the end of the dock. "You know who I am! You know who my father is!" He smiles triumphantly. "You can't touch me you piece-of-shit cop!" Pietro stops retreating, he holds his ground as I lurch forward another step. I'm gasping for air now, my whole body screaming for rest. I can barely stay on my feet.

"Look at you," he taunts. "You can't even stand up straight, let alone lift your arm up to use that damn visor of yours."

Stupid Kid.

"Sure I can." I push the button on the palm of my glove.

ZZOT!

A ruby red beam fires from my eyes. Its glow immerses the dark docks in red light for just a moment. Pietro screams as the blast tears his left ear off in a gory explosion.

The blast and shock knocks him off his feet, spilling Emma out onto the docks. She immediately rolls off his chest and crawls on her hands and knees away from the still screaming Maximoff. I hobble slowly towards them. Anger, to a degree I had never felt before, rises up in my gut. Images of Maximoff's three prior victims flash before my eyes. The realization that no matter what the evidence, Maximoff will never be tried in court. His Senator daddy will see to that. A sudden burning desire to torture and destroy this waste of human life consumed me. I look at Emma before attacking.

"Cover your eyes, Emma. I don't want you watching this," I tell her. Her eyes are still frozen wide in fear. Can't blame her. "I mean it, baby. Cover your eyes right now," I say as nicely as I can. It still sounded harsh in my ears. It worked this time; she buries her face in her hands, tears slipping out between her fingers.

BAM!

Another bullet rips through my shoulder, right above the first one. I don't even wince as it passes right through me. You weren't paying attention to Maximoff, old man. Kid still has his gun pointed at my chest. My face remains stone cold. That burning anger explodes.

I raise my hand to my visor. For a moment we're frozen in time; two ancient cowboys in a Mexican Standoff, their weapons drawn, ready to blow the other away.

I take his weapon away.

ZZOT!

My optic blast nits him just below the wrist, slicing through bone and tissue like paper. Maximoff screams as his hand, still clutching the gun, flops off the dock and sinks into the river. Wisps of smoke rise from seared flesh; the smell of cooked meat lingers in the air for a moment.

I take both of his weapons away.

ZZOT!

I focus my beam and burn away whatever lies in-between his legs. A pool of blood forms beneath him. He doesn't scream this time. This time he shrieks, a high-pitched bloodcurdling shriek that echoes across the river. The notes from leapt from that boy's throat chilled my body; it seemed to make the autumn air even colder.

I never heard the shots, just felt the pass through my back and out my chest. I even saw the bullets as they flew out. They weren't metal; they were white. Almost like…ice. As the world fades away to black, one thought passes through my head:

Hell of a way to end a partnership…

---X---

"For God's sake, don't make it any worse."

I'm still standing, leaning heavily on my knees but still standing. A few sparks spurt out of electronics on my gloves. They must have shorted out after getting shot with all that ice. Damn things are worthless. There's five bullet holes in me: two from Maximoff and three form my own damn partner. And he's telling me not to make it any worse.

I'm staring down at Maximoff. The son-of-a-bitch is still lying on the dock, cry and groaning over his lost body parts. My blood drips from my wounds and mixes with his on the wooden dock. The thought makes me sick.

"Don't make me kill you," Bobby warns.

"Doin' fine, Bobby," I stammer out with difficulty. "Never better," I lie. I manage to turn around and look at Bobby. His expression is blank, uncaring. His hands are covered in ice, the way frost licks the ground in winter, just waiting to send more "ice bullets" my way. Fuckin' kid, he's still wearing those Oakley's, even though I shattered one of the lenses when I popped him.

Gotta keep him talking. Buy time. Just a few more minutes. Just until backup gets here.

"I'm ready to kick your ass," I tell him with a half smile-half smirk on my face. Bobby doesn't think it's very funny.

"Sit down and stay down," he orders me. But I'm still on my feet. Bleeding, scarcely breathing, and clutching the holes in my chest. But still on my feet. Won't go down.

"I'll kill you if I have to," Bobby threatens.

Keep his mind off the girl – skinny little Emma. She's sitting on the ground, leaning up against one of the dock's support pylon. She's still sobbing heavily, her eyes shrink-wrapped in tears.

He can't kill her once back up gets here.

"Run home, Emma," I tell her. "Run for your life." She looks at me and stops crying. She's about to get up when bobby opens his mouth.

"Hey," he says, getting her attention. "Don't listen to him. He's a crazy man." Now you're pissing me off Bobby.

"What a tough man you are, huh?" I growl at him.

"You stay right where you're at," he tells Emma. She settles back down on the dock.

"You shoot your own partner in the back…" I lean on another dock pylon; it's the only thing keeping me on my feet. "Then you try to scare a little girl." I stop and suck in some air.

"Maybe I'll just pull off my visor, blast you a couple times, show you how it's done."

Bobby shakes his head. "We could have worked something out," he says. "But you've blown that." Just like you've been blowing Maximoff for all these years.

"Sit down," he orders, raising his ice-encased hand at me. "Or I'll blast you in half."

I look over at Emma again. She's crying harder than ever. Poor kid, she's been through so much tonight. I can't stop now. Gotta keep going, can't let them get her.

"You're so slow, you'll never stop me." I start raising my hand towards my visor. I can hear sirens approaching. 'Bout time.

"Sit Down!" yells bobby.

"You'll never be able to stop me." My fingertips touch my visor…

The air grows cold again. There's a quiet whoosh and another "ice bullet" slams into me.

Emma screams.

More whooshes follow. Four more to be exact. They pierce my arms and chest, leaving more trails of blood on my shirt and jacket. I must look like Swiss cheese by now. I finally sit down, just like Bobby told me to. The sirens are close now. Bobby turns and walks away. Probably to make up some lame story to feed to the backup.

Emma gets up and walks towards me. She steps on Maximoff's good hand as she comes closer. He doesn't even feel it anymore, he's out cold. I can barely make out her face; my vision is starting to get blurry. Her tears have stopped, but she's still grasping for air. She stands over me, than bends down to be face-to-face with me.

She'll be safe. She reaches out with one tiny, little hand and strokes the two-day stubble on my cheek. I lift my good arm and gently pull a wisp of her blonde hair out of her eyes. She starts crying again. I pull my hand away, before I can get any blood on her. She curls up on my lap, the only part of me that wasn't riddled with bullets, like a little blonde cat. She snuggles up against me, holding me close.

Things go dark. I don't mind much.

Getting sleepy. It's OK.

She'll be safe.

An old man dies, a little girl lives.

Fair trade.


	3. Her Name is Red

Blood, Bullets, and Broads

"Her Name is Red"

-X-

The night is hot as hell. I'm drunk, stinko, smashed. A hard thing for a man like me to accomplish. I'm in a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town. Sin City. Not like the way people call Vegas "Sin City". This place has sins that make Vegas look like Disneyland.

It's so hot the fresh brew in my hand is already growing warm; there's nothing worse than warm Canadian beer. Tastes like piss in a bottle. I lost my shirt and coat when I came into the room; they're lying on the floor somewhere. I'm standing in my worn out jeans and boots. The jeans are almost threadbare, but the boots still have a few miles left in them. My unruly hair and sideburns are matted from the heat and my old dog tags stick to my sweaty, muscular chest.

I'm staring at a goddess.

She's sitting on her bed. It's shaped like a giant heart and is the only furniture in the room. A green sheet was draped over her astonishing figure. It matched her emerald eyes that seemed to pierce my very thoughts. Her bright red hair dangled down her naked back. She's staring right at my ugly mug, telling me she wants me. She rises off the bed, granting me an uninhibited view of her remarkable body.

I'm not going to wait one more second wondering how I've gotten so lucky.

"I want you," she says again in a low, sexy voice. She steps closer and I hold her tightly.

She smells like angels out to smell: sweet and warm. I catch a whiff of her perfume, Folavril, and the promise of things to come. Her scent mixes with mine as we come together.

The Perfect Woman.

The Goddess.

"I need you," she says as we rock together.

Red. She says her name is Red.

-X-

The two lovers fell asleep in each other's arms; stone drunk and enjoying the after glow of incredible sex. Neither of them heard the door open slowly, nor the shaft of light that flooded the room from the hallway. They never saw the short, crouched figure that stood in their doorway. The light gleamed off his glasses as a long, whip-like tongue snaked out of his mouth and a pool of green drool spilled out onto the floor. A small, somewhat disturbing smile crept across his lips as he gazed at the naked, sleeping form of Red…

-X-

I wake up three hours later and my head is feeling several sizes too big. That's what happens with a healing factor like mine. I can heal nearly any wound instantly. Downside is all the pain and torment of natural healing is compressed and, as such, intensified. Hurts like hell, but I've gotten used to all amounts of pain over the years. When you've been shot, stabbed, blown up, burnt to a crisp, and nearly cut in half as many times as I have; a little hangover doesn't seem so bad.

I find my shirt in a corner and slip it on as the fireworks in my head lessens. I sit back down on the bed and hold my head in my rough, calloused hands. My senses begin to their normal sharpness and that cold thing happens to my stomach: that icy tickle that creeps up your balls and freezes up your insides when you know something's wrong.

And I realize Red's dead. Not a mark on her. You'd have to check her pulse or notice those perfect breasts of hers aren't moving like they would if she were breathing. I don't need to check her pulse or stare at her ample breasts, that I had so recently enjoyed, to know she was dead. I could smell it on her. The cold, putrid stench of death mixed with the fading angel smell makes me want to puke.

I light up a cigar and the smell of burning tobacco covers up some of the dead smell. Not all of it, there's still just enough to notice. And there's something else. Something even more putrid and rancid than the stench of death. I follow the smell from Red's bed to the doorway. The smell somehow gets worse as I reach the doorway. Someone else was here. Someone who smelled like they bathed in raw sewage every day for most of their life. There was a small, partially dry puddle of green spit in the doorway. I stick my finger into the pool. The spit is slimy and sticky to the touch. Someone had snuck in while Red and I were passed out. Someone had come in and killed Red. She was murdered and I was right here when it happened: lying next to her, stone drunk and exhausted, just like she was.

Damn it, Red. Who were you and who wanted you dead? Who were you besides an angel of mercy giving a two-time loser like me the night of his life? It sure as hell wasn't my looks. So why the sleazy saloon? Why the kindness, Red?

The sirens blaring in the streets surrounding the lousy building break my train of thought. The damn cops – they're telling me too much, showing up before anybody but me and the killer could know there's been a murder. I get up and walk to the lone window in the room, part the cheap, dirty blinds. I can see the flashing red lights atop the cop cars and the purple metal of the Sentinel the cops brought with 'em. Somehow, they already know I'm a mutant. This whole thing stinks like a set up. Somebody did his or her homework and paid good money for this frame. There's a long list of people who'd like to see me dead: psychos, governments, former comrades in arms, mob guys, freaks, sneaks, even a couple ex-girlfriends. But there's not too many who had the brains or the bank too pull something like this off. And I'm gonna find out who…

The black leather trench coat I took off the last punk who tried to mug me is still lying in a heap in the corner. It's a nice coat, made sure I didn't stain it when I sliced up its prior owner.

The sirens have stopped; the cops are already here. No need to play it quiet, sneak out off the roof. I slide into my coat calmly, that cold tightening in my gut replaced with barely restrained fury. Like a volcano just before an eruption, like an animal backed into a corner. Got no reason to play it anyway but my way. The hard way.

I can hear the cops running up the flights of wooden stairs. The Sentinel's lying quiet, must have landed somewhere nearby. Not much time left.

I kneel down next to the heart-shaped bed and grasp one of Red's cold hands in mine.

"Whoever killed you is going to pay, darlin'," I promise her. I let go of her hand and slowly rise to my feet. I place one last kiss on her pale forehead. "Goodbye," I whisper. I look at her face one last time. Even in death, she's too beautiful for words.

Cops are walking down the hallway, spoiling my moment. Bastards won't even give me a minute to reflect. I lean against the door and idly fiddle with my lighter, listening patiently to the cops creep slowly towards the room. I don't have to wait long.

"Open up, Police!" one of 'em bangs loudly on the door. I flick my lighter one last time before returning it to my coat pocket.

"I'll be right out, bub," I growl through the door.

BANG!

I slam into the door, bursting through it like tissue paper. The wood explodes outwards and the three cops closest to it went crashing into the wall.

Wasn't even trying let.

One of the cops that didn't get blown away by my explosive entrance charged up besides me. A quick backhand sent him down to the floor with his buddies.

Somebody down the hall starts shooting. Only a matter of time before the rest of them catches on and start blasting too. They're too far away to charge down without turnin' myself into mincemeat. Healing factor or not, I'm not in the mood to get all shot up. So I do the only reasonable thing left…

I jump.

Red's room wasn't on the top floor of this rickety old building, but it was pretty close. I musta free falled for a couple floors, bullets whizzin' by my ears the whole way down, before I was able to grab onto a banister. Thing nearly gave under my weight, but it held long enough for me to hop over it.

The cops are really opening up now. Guess they were disappointed I didn't splatter my brains all over the lobby. More bullets burrowed into the walls and floor around me. Cops can't shoot worth shit. One of 'em from above got lucky and a bullet glances off my shoulder. Barely broke my skin but did a number to my coat. Jerks. This was a nice coat. Now it's all torn up. Jerks. I quickly find my bearings and look for an escape route. Not too many options. There's cops above me and cops below me and all of them are trigger happy and just dying for a chance to plug a few into me. I do the only reasonable thing I can think off.

I jump…again. This time through a window.

Glass shatters into a million pieces, most of it ends up buried in my face and my arms. Blood drips into my eyes as I plummet back to Earth. Windows flash by as I fall; think I even saw a family sitting down to dinner. Nice. The black pavement rushes towards me and I grit my teeth in anticipation for a crash landing.

I should have held my nose.

I land in a messy pile of garbage bags. There's a junkie sleeping off whatever it was she took tonight, lying up against the smelly bags of shit and god knows what else. She doesn't even move when I belly flop on top of it from ten stories up. At least the bags cushioned my fall. I crawl out from under them, not much worse for wear. I smell to high heaven and the glass tore my jacket even more. It was such a nice coat too. The cuts on my face and hands have already healed. The dried blood left red streaks across my face; must look like war paint or somethin'.

I'm not on my feet for two seconds before I can hear siren's blaring and a cop car flies around the corner. The car's headlights are nearly blinding as they rip down the alley at full speed. No way they're gonna stop for the likes of me; they'd rather see me as a greasy spot on the alley floor. Fortunately, I can say the same 'bout them.

I run straight at the speeding car, taking the cops by surprise. Cops never expect you to run right at 'em.

Before the cops squash me like a bug, I leap feet first into the windshield. The thick glass explodes and I've got shards in my face again. The two cops in the car are just as lucky. They don't have a mutant healing factor. Or unbreakable bones.

The car spins out of control and crashes through the pile of garbage I used as a cushion and into the alley wall. The junkie never even opened one eye; she just rolled over and cuddled with a moldy loaf of bread like it was a teddy bear.

The two cops careened inside the car, smacking themselves silly on the steering wheel and dashboard. The crash jarred their senses; they didn't know what hit 'em. I wasn't going to give them a chance to figure out anyway.

CRACK!

An adamantium-laced fist slammed into the driver's face, busting through that dopey plastic visors cops have to wear with their riot helmets. Blood poured out of his broken nose as I pushed him out the door. He wasn't moving much when I threw the car in reverse and headed out of the alley. Didn't care. I opened up the passenger side and pitched the other cop out of the car. He bounced off the alley wall and landed with a heavy thud across from his partner. I peeled out of the alley and left them in a cloud of exhaust. Hope the bastards choke on it. I turn the siren off as I speed away from Red's building, didn't want to attract any more attention than I already was.

No sirens, no flashing lights behind me. Looks like I made a clean getaway. I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a cigar and my lighter. I bite the end off with my teeth and light it. The car fills with the rich scent of burning tobacco and drowns out some of the garbage smell lingering on my coat. My heart begins to slow and I manage to relax a bit. Cool wind blows into the car from the crater of a windshield. Feels refreshing as I pull an inch of glass out of my forehead.

KA-BOOM!

I was thinking about my next move when the road in front of me burst into a ball of flames. More explosions followed; one scraped my rear bumper, igniting the trunk of my stolen car momentarily. I can hear the whine of jet engines and I curse, vocally and mentally. The Sentinel. How could I forget about the goddamn Sentinel? I check the rear view and side mirrors. Sure enough, all I can see is a mass of purple armor following closely behind me; its outstretched hand glows yellow as it fires another round of laser fire. Cars and telephone poles explode into flaming shrapnel all around me as I try to keep my car on the road. I weave in and out, slipping in between the explosions as fast as I can. I'm doing ninety easily, but the Sentinel is still right on top of me. It raises both its massive hands and fires blasts from the both. I managed to dodge the first blast, but it sent me straight into the second. Damn machines are getting smarter. The blast burns straight through the top and takes out the entire passenger side down to the undercarriage. Nearby destroys the front axel. A grim smile pulls at the corner of my lips; too bad I didn't let that cop sit there now. I swear to avoid another blast. It melts through a fire hydrant. Water bursts out of the jagged remains and covers the car and me in its spray. Great. Now I'm wet too. First garbage, now water… the water gives me an idea. It hits me like one of those light bulbs you see characters get in old Looney Tunes cartoons. I slam on the brakes and spin the wheel hard to the left. The car spins into a perfect U-turn and the Sentinel flies past me. I floor the gas and head for the waterfront. I don't get much of a head start. The Sentinel managed to turn around quickly and was back on my ass, still blasting away indiscriminately. Damn thing. It isn't programmed to care about what it might hit if it misses its target.

It's late and the piers have already closed for the night. There's a little guard station with a wooden checkpoint at the entrance. I can see an elderly guard dozing in a chair as I speed towards the checkpoint. He hears the explosions and falls out of his chair as he sees the Sentinel and me coming. He jumps in front of the barricade, waving his arms frantically in the air. I think he's yelling, "Stop, STOP!" but I can't hear him over the Sentinel blasting chucks of asphalt into the air. I grit my teeth as I press the gas to the floor. The old security guard jumps out of the way just before I slam through the wooden barricade.

"Sorry Pops, " I mutter as turn down the pier. The Sentinel is still right behind me; it crashed through the poor guard's little station, shattering the wooden structure like it was made of matchsticks. Poor guard doesn't even have his chair anymore.

I wind my car all through the waterfront, in and out of warehouses and storerooms. I pull out every dirty little trick I know about driving, even made up a few on the spot, but that Sentinel stays with me every step of the way.

"Damn machines are getting smarter," I growl to nobody in particular as I pull onto the longest pier I could find. The Sentinel finally lands and starts walking steadily down the pier after me, its hands still glowing. I slow down just enough to let it catch up a bit; want it to have a real good look at this. I glance into the rear view and see its electronic eyes focus in on the wreck of a car. I floor it. The car leaps forward and I fly down the pier. The Sentinel opens fire, blowing away the docks behind me. Chucks of burning wood and red-hot steel flash all around me. I change gears and accelerate harder as the pier rapidly diminishes in front of me.

VRROOOOMM!

I crash through some old boxes and hurtle off the pier. The car soars for a moment, flying through the air like a bird. My flight was short lived. The car hit the black water of the river with a massive splash and sinks like a stone, taking me with it.

I swim out of the hole where the windshield used to be and, slowly and difficultly, swim away from the wreck. Its hard work, swimming. Especially when you have metal bones weighing you down. I can only swim a few feet at a time, makes for a hell of a workout. Anyone else would have drowned by now. Fortunately, my healing factor will keep me from drowning for a while. I can hold my breath for close to half an hour. Don't know why I know that, just do.

I slowly swim away from the crash site. Above, I can see the jet exhaust flames from the Sentinel's feet. It's hovering above the spot my car crashed into the water patiently, as a robot can, for me to swim up for air and make an easy target. Just like I knew it would. Sooner or later it will receive orders from the cops that I'm dead. I'll be long gone by then.

I make it to a large, underwater sewer pipe nearby and swim into it. It's wide and tall enough for three of me to slip through it. Convenient, didn't wanna get stuck halfway through a damn sewage pipe. I even found an air pocket halfway through the pipe. Gotta love when things work out like that. Eventually, the pipe split into several individual sewer lines. I picked one and swam down the narrower, tighter pipe. Almost got stuck once or twice, but I made it to a ladder and crawled back to the surface through a manhole.

Back on solid ground, and without a big purple robot breathing down my neck, I shake the water off my torn coat and slump down against a building. I'm tired; it's been a long night. Between the boozing, sex, escape, and swim I'm tuckered out. I take a look around from my seated position and try to figure out where I arrived out of the sewer. I'm miles away from Red's building and from the pier. That Sentinel's still probably just hovering there still, its mechanical thumb stuck straight up its metal ass. Stupid machine.

A helicopter thumps overhead as I rise up and breath smoke out of my lungs. I look around the alleys and leave as casually as I can. As I walk, my hands buried in my coat pockets, the events of the night replay inside my head. Over and over, in picture perfect clarity. There's a fiery burn between my knuckles every time I think of Red. A heavy pang of guilt and animal rage washes over me.

I don't know why you died, Red. I don't know why and I don't know how. Where they after you or me? I never even met you before tonight. But you were a friend and more when I needed one. And when I find out who did kill you, it wont be quick and quiet like it was with you. It'll be loud and nasty and bloody -- my kind of kill. And when his eyes go dead in his smelly head, the hell I send him to will seem like heaven after what I've done to him. I love ya Red.

"I'll kill 'em for ya, kill 'em good," I whisper to the wind.

My head's killing me. I need my medicine and some information. I light up another cigar and peek around a corner to look for any passing cops. The streets are mostly empty, the decent people of this city long asleep in their beds. I take another drag off my cigar and I turn back towards downtown.

-X-

* * *

Author's Note: I'm having trouble casting the role of Jackie Boy. I am open to any suggestions from you, the readers. Please only consider characters from Marvel and The X-MEN almost exclusively. If it is a crossover from another comic I will consider it if it is a very good idea. Please try to narrow your selections down to specifically the various X-MEN teams from past, present, and future and their enemies (The Brotherhood, The Reavers, The Hellfire Club, etc.)

Thanks,

Nataku's Wrath 


	4. Broads and Bozos

Logan's Tale pt. II

"Broads and Bozos"

Somewhere downtown,

She lies in a restless sleep, tossing and turning under her sheets, unable to slip peacefully into slumber. Her eyes slowly open. She peers around her small apartment, gazing over the various furniture and small piles of dirty laundry on the floor.

She hears something faint, like a scratching outside. She dismisses it as a bird or something and rolls back over. Moments later, a window latch squeaks, cutting through the still of the night like a knife. She sits up at the sound, now wide-awake. The sheet covering her body slips down and the moonlight pouring in from the window illuminates her features. She's young, in her early twenties, and has lightly tan skin. Her short black hair frames her strikingly beautiful face.

She hears muffled footsteps down the hall and swiftly rises out of bed. Clad only in a small, reveling thong, she silently opens a dresser drawer. She reaches under the clothes and removes a small revolver. She normally didn't need a gun to protect herself, but her own methods of protection were too volatile for use in her own home. Unless she wanted to turn her living room into the 4th of July. Gun cocked, she quickly headed towards the noise. The noise had settled inside her bathroom and she could hear a man's voice muttering obscenities from inside. 'Great,' she thought. 'Must be a pervert. Who else breaks into a girl's bathroom?' She levels the gun and rounds the corner. It wasn't who or what she expected.

"Now, don't worry, kid. I was just grazed." She lowered the gun and stepped into the bathroom. I had just finished wipin' away all the dried blood off my face and arms. Even managed to get rid of the smell that followed me from the sewers. "You got any beers around this place?" I ask with a friendly smile on my face.

"No way I'm giving you any alcohol, Wolvie," she says as she walks across the bathroom tiles. She places her gun on the sink, amidst the pile of rags I used to clean myself up. She gives me a full view of her partially nude body. She doesn't seem to mind, so I keep my trap shut. I even ignore the cute shortening of my nickname. "Besides, that's not what you came here for anyway, is it?" she asks coyly, flirting while she digs through her medicine cabinet.

"No," I mutter, mesmerized by the thong-encased ass in front of me. It's hard for any man to concentrate when near such a beautiful girl like her. She turns around and tosses a small bottle of pills into my lap.

"Go ahead," she says. "You're worse without 'em."

"Thanks," I reply. I pop the childproof lid off easily with my thumb. "You're the best, Jubes."

"Yeah, whatever."

Jubilee's my parole officer. We have a history, she and I. I saved her from a bunch of thugs while she was still a teen living in a mall of all places. For a while she became my unofficial sidekick, following me around like a love struck puppy. Got me in a lot of trouble too. She grew up, under my watchful eye, into a strong, young woman. She became a cop, but, due to some political bullshit, got bumped to parole officer. After I spent a few years in the joint, she pulled some strings and got me appointed to her. She looked out for me when I got out. Prison was a bad time for me. They messed with me while I was in there, experimented on me. I came out with most of my memories distorted or just gone and with unbreakable metal for bones. She took care of me when I was scared and confused. We look out for each other you could say: I make sure no one gives her a hard time and she keeps me out of trouble with the cops.

Jubilee slips into a silk robe, much to my disappointment. Not that anything would have happened anyway. She's a dyke, but God knows why. With that body of hers, she could have any man she wants. I tilt my head back while she dresses and swallow a bunch of pills. The meds come from a girlfriend. Some hottie named Paige, who's a shrink. She tried to analyze me once, but she got too scared. The memories I still have ain't exactly pleasant. The pills help to patch together the assorted mess I call memories. Jubilee walks back towards me and plucks the cigar out of my hand. She takes a long look at my grizzled face and at the torn up coat lying on her bathroom floor.

"Haven't seen you like this in a while," she says as she takes a long drag on my cigar. There's something sexy about a woman who can enjoy a cigar, especially one as strong as mine.

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. "Got in a fight with some cops."

"Didn't happen to kill any of them, did you?" she asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Fighting cops is a big no-no in her book, even if they have it coming.

"Not that I know of. Not outright at least." I smile a small half-smile, the one that always give bad guys the creeps. Doesn't have much effect of Jubilee. "But they know they've been on the losing end of a fight, that's for damn sure."

"Jeez Logan. How the hell do you think I'm going to square this with the board?" More annoyance in her voice now. She doesn't get it, she never really did.

"There ain't no squarin' it," I growl, barely containing my anger. "Not this time." I stand up and look her dead in the eye.

"This isn't some barroom brawl. Or some creep with a ray gun trying to torch someone." Jubilee rolls her eyes at my speech; clearly she doesn't get the message. "Hey, hey! "This is big!" I musta been raising my voice, cuz she took a half step back against the sink.

"Settle down, Wolvie. Take another pill," she says.

"Hey, there ain't no settling down! This is blood for blood and by the gallons!" I shout, pumping my fist into the air. "This is the old days and the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back. There's no choices left. And I'm ready for war," I growl, low and fearsome.

The bad, old days; when the mobs and villains and psychos ruled Sin City. The mere thought of their return makes my blood begin to boil. Jubilee doesn't remember them; she was still too young to. But I remember. The streets were war zones and innocent blood flowed from the gutters like rain. Not something I want to see again.

"Prison was hell for you, Logan. Remember what happened to you last time. What 'they' did to you last time. It's going to be life this time. If you're lucky…" Jubilee spat back with a fire in her eyes that matched my own. I take a long look into her eyes. It wasn't anger in them; it was concern.

I slowly nod my head. "Hell's waking up every goddamn day and not even knowing who you are and why you're here," I say grimly. "But I'm out now, I got away from the bastards that did this to me," my hands clench into tight fists, that burning sensation growing sharp in between my knuckles. The rage builds up insides me, the feral beast wants out.

A small hand slips over my own. Jubilee grasps my hand in her own, comforting me. "You don't need to do this to yourself, Wolvie," she tells me. I reach out and gently caress her cheek with my calloused hand.

"They took somebody who was kind to me," I said softly. "I know exactly what I gotta do." I pick up my ragged coat and leave out the window, same way I came in. Jubilee stood speechless in her own bathroom for a moment before a smile lit up her beautiful face.

"Use the damn door next time, Wolvie!" she shouted after me.

---X---

The rooftops are empty; there's not even a stray cat to get in my way as I leave Jubilee's. I feel a little bad for yellin' at her. Sometimes I forget she's just a kid.

The rooftops are much quieter than the streets below, gives me a bit of peace 'n quiet to think. And it's a lot harder to get spotted by the cops when you're six stories up.

I take a seat under a rooftop billboard for some lame-ass chick flick and I take another pill. It calms me down a little. All this runnin' around ain't really my style. I like to work my aggressions out on the spot. But there's too many questions needin' answers to just go and start cuttin' people up. I need answers first…and a beer. I stand up and jump across the rooftops towards Kadie's.

As I run from rooftop to rooftop, I can feel eyes upon my back. I can sense somebody watchin' me and I don't like it. A sudden puff of breeze above me stops me in my tracks and I close my eyes and tilt my grizzled face upwards, taking in all the smells. One stood out in my mind.

Smelled like feathers and gun oil.

_Snikt!_

3 triangular claws punch through the skin in between the knuckles on my left and right hands. Each foot long claw is razor sharp claw and is made of adamantium, the same stuff that's been fused to my bones. There're unbreakable, just like the rest of me, and can cut through titanium steel like butter.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people, pretty boy," I growl. There was a soft fluttering of wings above me and there's an angel floating above me. Not like my angel Red, but a golden haired angel with white feathery wings and a large handgun pointed at my chest. There's one of those fancy laser sights, for these young punks who never learned how to shoot straight, trained on my heart.

Would have thought I'd be use to that by now…

Even in the dark, I can still recognize him. Warren Worthington III. The Rich Boy Jerk-Off. Playing hitman for shits and giggles. Kid walks away from his family's multi-billion dollar company to kill scumbags and losers in this lousy town for ass-wipe money. Don't know what creeps me out more: the fact that this "Angel" does what he does for kicks or that he's good at it. Good enough to become the most wanted and expensive hitman in Sin City. "They" say that if your name finds it's way onto his hit list; then it's already too late to make your funeral plans.

Course "They" say a lot.

And he's never come after me before.

"What do you want birdie?" I call up to him as he flutters down onto the top of the chick flick billboard, perched like some sort of beautiful and terrible gargoyle. His gun sight never wavered from my chest.

"There has been quite a lot of talk tonight," he said like a man ordering caviar off a menu. "Much of it has been about dealing with you. You have become the hottest commodity in this dreg of a town overnight. I must say, you look fairly well for a man that a lot of rich and powerful men want dead, although your attire could use a little work."

"People been tryin' to kill me for years," I replied in a low tone. I take a step towards the perched Angel and gave him a better view of my claws. "And I'm still here!" I roared at him.

Angel just shook his head at me, like he pitied me or somethin'. Don't like getting brushed off or pitied, especially by the likes of him. I take another step forward…

BAM!

A shot rings out and smoke rises from a bullet hole at my feet. Angel turns, reveling a second gun, its barrel still smoking. The first gun never moved from my chest.

"Now just stay right there, Logan. The next one will be in your belly and I hear that's an awfully painful place to be shot, even for someone with accelerated healing," he warned.

Kid's done his homework.

"What do you want, bub?" I ask him menacingly. "You ain't here to kill me or you would have tried already."

"You think I'm here to kill you?" he smiled down at me.

"I said you'd try," I grinned fiercely.

"Well lucky me, I'm not here to kill you. Not yet anyway. For the time being, I am merely performing a friendly service, a show of respect if you allow me."

"Respect?" I snorted to myself.

"Call it professional courtesy. I'm here to tell you to that the events that have occurred this night are far bigger than you could possibly imagine. You are nothing but an ant, a pawn in an epic game of chess."

"Sounds familiar," I mutter, remembering my soldiering and spy days.

"You're going to lose, Logan. And you're going to get hurt," Angel called from above. "Give up."

"That sounds familiar too," I chuckle. "Wolverines never back down, no matter how big the resistance," I called back proudly.

Angel unfurled his massive wings and took to the air once again. The laser sight on my chest winked out. He brought the gun up towards his forehead in some kind of lame mock salute as he flapped away into the darkness.

_Snakt_!

I retract my claws and wipe the few specks of blood off my knuckles. I straighten my tattered coat on my shoulders and light up a fresh cigar. Had to stop earlier for new ones; the ones that survived my trip through the sewers didn't taste very good anymore.

I inhale the harsh smoke and step calmly off the rooftops. I fell three stories before landing quietly on my feet. No pile of garbage or junkie to land on this time. I head down the alleyway and turned down the street leading to Kadie's. Wasn't paying too much attention anyway, my mind was already buzzing with new questions. I'm going over what Angel said in my head. Underneath all his posturing and bullshit, he did make a point or two. Angel said that this was big, really big and he's 'bout as reliable as a hitman can be when it comes to getting information. At least without cuttin' 'em up a little bit first.

I was always good at jigsaw puzzles, 'cept when my whole past became one. And the situation I got now, it's one hell of a puzzle. Problem is I'm damn short on pieces. I've been framed for murder and the law is in on it. Big money's involved if Angel's caught wind of it and they're throwing Sentinel's at me. But the real enemy, the smelly son of a bitch who killed the angel lying next to me, he's out there somewhere, out of sight like a little chicken shit. All I got to do is find the missing piece to my puzzle and that'll give me the how and why and a face and a name and a soul to send screaming into hell.

So all I go to do is send the bastard an invitation. Come and get me. Come and let me look you in the eyes once before the beast inside me tears ya to ribbons.

All this thinking and I start to wonder about the angel I spent the night of my life with. You were scared weren't you, Red? Somebody wanted you dead and you knew it. You did something or saw something you weren't supposed to. So you hit the saloons, the bad places, looking for the biggest, meanest lug around and finding me. Looking for protection and paying for it with your body and more – with love, with phoenix fire, making me feel like a king, a damn white knight.

Like a hero.

What a laugh.

You wanted me to keep you safe, but when that bastard came to kill you I was stone drunk.

Blacked out.

Useless.

Well, I'm gonna find that son of a bitch that killed you and I'm gonna give him the hard goodbye.

-X-

Walk down the right back alley in Sin City and you can find anything. Kadie's is a place like that. A saloon for the lowest of the low, a place for all the two-bit losers like me. A place where you can brawl and damn near kill a man over a bar stool and the only thing that happens is the music; good roadhouse R&B. the good ol' stuff that you can drink to and fight to and cry to; gets cranked up.

I walk towards the alleyway entrance and two shapes are banging into the large door. I can see someone's head being smashed again and again into the door before it bursts open and a small, whiney, shred of a man flies out, landing in a sad heap, face down in a puddle of god knows what.

"Leave your hands off Nancy!" the bouncer shouts, wedged firmly in the doorway. He takes up the entire extra large doorframe, he's that damn fat. Multiple chins fat. Man breasts twice the size of basketballs fat. All he's wearing is a dark blue leotard that barely contains the rolls upon rolls of his fat ass. A street light shines off his baldhead as I walk towards the door. I step on the chest of the man the bouncer just threw out as I approach. There's a small wheezing sound when I step down hard, almost like the sound that doughboy you see on TV makes. Another step and I reach the doorway. The bouncer, whose nametag pinned in between layers of fat says, "Blob", stares down and me and I stare right back up at him. Blob. I chuckle silently at the name. Seemed very fitting for the wall of jiggling fat blocking the way into Kadie's.

"That coat looks like Baghdad," he says dumbly to me. I'm guessin' there wasn't enough room for much brains with all that fat takin' up so much space. "So does your face," he continues. "Take off!" he shouts as he moves to close the door on me.

Definitely no room for brains.

It's been way too long a night to even consider takin shit from Mr. Tons-Of-Fun. I reach back with my right arm and plow one right into his guts. But instead of hitting resistant flesh, my fist and soon my whole arm was sucked into the massive folds of fat like it was quick sand. If I had a watch I probably would have lost it in that mess. It was like punching a wall of Jell-O.

I pull my arm out with a sickening squelch just in time to duck under one of Blob's meaty fists. Catching him off guard, I shove my thumbs into his eyes and push. Hard.

He screams like a six-year-old girl with a skinned knee. Keepin' my thumbs in his eyes, I push his lard ass back into Kadie's and into a booth. With one more shove, I pop my thumbs out of his eyes as the booth breaks under the man's ridiculous weight. The table splintered like a matchstick house and Blob flopped onto the floor with a thump.

A plumb waitress serving drinks at the next table looks at me. She turns and offers me a shot of liquor sitting on her tray, which I glad fully take.

"He's new here, Logan. He didn't know," she said apologizing for Blob. I nod my head before tossing back the shot. Didn't know what it was, but it burnt like fire all the way down my throat and I needed that. I put the empty glass back on the waitress' tray and move along. She never asks me to pay; no one in Kadie's does. My drinks here are always on the house. The girls would break my arms if I ever tried to pay. I've done favors for just about every girl that ever worked here. Some more serious than others; and nobody knows where all those bodies are buried. Nobody but me…

As I head for the bar and my favorite stool, I take a glimpse up at the stage. Emma's just getting started with her gig, but already the crowd's breathin' hard. Her sleek, lithe, sexy little body gyrated up and down the stage; her skintight leathers and black bra tease the crowd. Plenty of nights I've drooled over Emma and her gorgeous body and the way she moves along that stage with all the other losers like me. But that's not what I'm looking for tonight. By now I'm sure Angel's gotten the word out to all the moneymen that I was heading for Kadie's. All I got to do now is wait for them to come to me. As Emma gets out her lasso and starts twirling it above her head and grinding against its coils, I smile. Might as well enjoy a show while I wait.

I take my seat at the stage and settle in. The other girls are out, taking orders or flirting with customers, each girl in their own skimpy outfit, reveling much more than what it hides. One of them recognizes me and strides up behind me. She has long, bushy reddish-brown hair with a long white "skunk" stripe going through the middle. Her pale skin shined under her black leather bra and chaps and she had a pair of green eyes that only my angel Red could ever beat. She slipped a shot glass over my shoulder to place in front of me

"What'll it be, Logan?" she asks in her sweet Southern-accent that drove men up the wall and into their wallets.

"A shot and a brew, Rogue, and keep 'em comin'," I tell her. I don't know her real name, no one did. Everyone just called her Rogue.

"Sure, Sugah. You take it slow now."

"Yeah sure thing Stripes," I reply using my nickname for her. If anyone else called her that, she'd probably throw a truck at 'em. Literally. She smiles at me instead and walks away. I return my full attention to the stage as Emma really starts to warm up.

-X-

Rogue left the bar and slowly headed for one of the darker booths back in the corner of the saloon. There was a single man in the booth, idly playing Solitaire with a worn pack of cards. He was wearing a brown leather duster and fingerless gloves that fit to his hands like a second skin. He was waiting for his drink, bourbon on the rocks, and she had plucked it right off another girl's tray just so she would be the one to bring it to him. She couldn't see his see his face, the shadows hid most of his features, but she knew who it was. He was someone who hadn't been around in a long time. She knew him as Remy, but the rest of the city knew him as Gambit, the master thief. But to Rogue, he would always be just Remy to her.

As she brought him his drink, he lifted his eyes from his game and met hers. His fiery red eyes seemed to burn through her own green. No words were spoken between the two. But then none were needed. Volumes of unspoken dialogue passed through their eyes, an equal desire cut through the air. Rogue placed the drink down on the table, careful not to disturb any of the cards and walked away, swinging her hips just slightly. She could feel his red eyes follow her the rest of the night.

-X-

Remy held Rogue's gaze as long as he could, before she turned away and went back to work. He watched her leave, watching her ass gently sway as she walked and loving every bit of it. He took a long sip of his drink, draining half the glass just so she would be back sooner.

Remy lazily flicked another set of cards from his deck and twirled them expertly between his fingers before casting them down on to the table. Pausing from his game, he took a long look around the saloon. A wanted man like him couldn't be too careful. He spotted Logan when the lug forced his way into the saloon and had been keeping an eye on him ever since. Remy had met Logan a long time ago, even worked a job or two with him. The man was good to have at your side in a pinch. Remy thought of going over and having a drink with the former friend, but knew from experience not to mess with Logan tonight. It was his eyes. One could easily overlook them and fall for his charade of drinking heavily and staring lustfully at the dancing blonde Remy hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting, that Logan was just another loser winding down after a long day. Remy saw it in Logan's eyes. He could see the feral berserker that was waiting in those eyes to cut the first person who crossed his path to shreds.

'Most people think dat Logan is crazy,' Remy thought to himself. 'He jus' hav' da rotten luck of bein' born in da wrong century. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield, swingin' dem claws into someone's face. Or in a Roman arena takin a sword to others like him. Dey'd have tossed him girl's like dat blonde on stage at him back then.' Remy shook his head and smiled.

"Just rotten luck," he muttered before tossing back the rest of his drink. "Chere?" he called out for Rogue, raising his empty glass into the air.

-X-

Emma was puttin' on one hell of a show tonight. Almost made me forget why I was here in the first place. She was so good I almost started having a good time. I lit another cigar and stuff the remains of another into a nearby ashtray. So far there was four butts in that ashtray, nearly filling it. Next to the ashtray was a dozen or so shot glasses and nearly twice that number in beer bottles. And I still wasn't feeling a damn thing. Most people would be drop-dead drunk at this point, probably just plain dead from alcohol poisoning. But this damn healing factor of mine kills any buzz before I could even get a chance to feel it. I nearly cleaned out a liquor store the other night when I got drunk with Red. Ran up one hell of a bar tab.

I saw Gambit sitting alone in a back booth and debated greeting him or not. Not in the mood for socializin' and the Cajun looked more interested in makin' eyes with Rogue than anything I would have to say. Was more in the mood for a fight than ol' friends, anyway.

The barmaid, some dame named Dazzler tonight, slides me another shot of 151 and I slug it down. I hold the glass tightly until the burn from the liquor fades away, then I slide it down into the pile of discarded glasses. I look back up at the stage. Emma has her back turned to the crowd. She looks down her bare back as she twirls her bra over her head, but not letting anyone see the goods yet.

Cli-Click!

The sound of a gun cocking brings me back from the show. Bastards have rotten timing. I can tell, without even turnin' around, by the smell of them that these two punks aren't the one's who killed Red. They sent underlings after me instead of coming themselves.

How insulting.

"Shows over, dickwad," the one calls over my shoulder. I peek at him over the corner or my eye. He's wearing all grey and even has a little grey stocking cap on his head. He was the one digging the gun into my back. The other had dyed red-blonde hair, slicked back into a wild mop. He was wearing red and yellow clothes under a beautiful black trench coat. I could smell gasoline on him and caught a glimpse of two fuel lines running underneath his coat. "Drink up," he said in a cheerful, Australian accent. I lean back on my stool and take the rest of my beer down in one gulp.

"Now that's a fine-lookin' coat you're wearing there bub."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. The best and the worst is yet to come for Logan, so keep reading and reviewing. As for the casting of Jackie Boy, please keep submitting me your ideas. It's been a long process, not to mention a big pain in my ass, but I'm slowly narrowing the list down. I should have it cast by my next post. In the meantime, keep on reading.

Nataku's Wrath


	5. Asking Nicely

Logan's Tale pt. III

"Asking Nicely"

* * *

I love hitmen. No matter what you to them, you don't feel bad. Fact is, the worse you do, the better it gets.

The two thugs escort me through Kadie's at gunpoint. Everybody in the joint can see the gun, but nobody seems to notice it. At Kadie's, there's a standing policy of mindin' your own business.

We make it to the door without incident, 'cept for the thug shoving the gun into my back. Blob still isn't back at the door. Probably still sittin' in the back tryin' to clear his head.

"Your killin' days are over, you over –the-hill, do-gooder, son of a bitch," said the hitman in gray as they pushed me out the door.

"Come on Dominic, can't I torch him?" asked the blonde, twitchy one.

"Chill out, John. It's my turn," Dominic answered.

Their names ring a bell. Dominic Petros AKA Avalanche was a rising hitman in the city with a thing for dropping rocks on people. St. John Allerdyce AKA Pyro was an old face in the game. He once made a lot of headlines a while back: has a thing for settin' people on fire. And the fact that he liked burnin' up dames the most was going to make this even more fun.

Before the two men knew what hit them, I attacked. A quick back fist took care of the flamer walkin' behind me. He goes down. Hard.

Avalanche levels his gun at me, ready to plug me full of lead. Doesn't know that would only make me mad. I grab his arm before he could fire and spin him around. I aim the gun at his rising partner. A shot rings out followed by Pyro's screams as the bullet burrowed into his stomach. Avalanche had a look of horror on his face when he realized his buddy had just been shot. I didn't leave him much time to think about it. With my right hand, I punch him hard in the gut. He doubles over, wheezing in pain. His gun clattered to the ground. I throw him upright against the alley wall.

_Snikt_!

I pop the two outside claws on my right hand and put them through his eyes. Blood and eyeball squirts out onto my arm while he twitches like a fish out of water.

_Snakt_!

I pull my claws back and he drops to the floor in a heap. I shake the wet blood off my hand as I turn back towards Pyro. He's sitting against a wall, holding a Bic Lighter, trying to spark a flame, but his hand was too wet from his own blood. His other hand is clutching the bullet wound in his stomach.

I pick up Avalanche's discard gun and hunch down next to Pyro. I smack the lighter out of his hand.

"Take it off," I tell him.

"What?" He looks at me like I have three heads or something.

"A fine coat like that and you're bleeding all over it," I specify.

"Alright it's yours," he whimpered out in pain as he slowly takes off the coat. I can see the gas tank on his back and the fuel lines to his arms now.

"Take that off too," I order.

"Oh, God!" he cries in pain as he removes the tank and fuel lines. Must hurt.

"It wasn't you losers who killed Red," I say, taking off my own tattered coat. "The guy who did that smelled to high heaven, and he knew what he was doin'." I crouch down until I'm lookin' Pyro dead in the eye. "So tell me, ma. Who sent you?"

He just stares at me for a moment, grinning and glaring at me. So I took Avalanche's gun and pistol-whipped the little shit.

CRACK!

He cries out again as blood runs from his mouth and belly now. I duck the gun into my belt and reach out to steady him with my right hand. I pop the outside claws on my left hand, bracketing his throat right below the chin. He froze. Any movement, even a twitch and my claws would tear through skin and flesh, and bone. My middle claw slowly slid out of its housing until its tip was just touching Pyro's neck. A drop of blood formed at its razor point. Pyro turned a pale green as he tried not to breathe or swallow.

"I don't hear you givin' me any names," I growl. Pyro's mouth opens and closes as he gasps for air. More blood pools at his neck as my claws graze against his throat. He's going to slit his own throat. That sounds all well and good to me, but I need information first. I pull the pistol out of my belt and aim it at Pyro. "So I guess when I shot you in the belly I aimed just a little too high."

_Snakt_! I retract my claws a second before I pull the trigger.

BAM!

Pyro screams soprano. Tears mix with blood as they run down his face.

"You keep holdin' out on me like this, and I'm gonna have to get really nasty," I warn. He looks up at me, terrified. I know what he's thinkin'. He's thinking, _'what could be nastier that this?'_ I glare down at him, my eyes promising a world of pain.

"It was Tyler…Tyler Dayspring passed me the order," he confessed with a quivering lower lip. "He runs the tables over to the Triple Ace Club." He's spillin' his guts. Another second goes by and I got all the info I need.

"Thanks again," I mutter. I raise the gun to his face.

BAM!

I stand up and put Pyro's coat on with a smile on his face. I brush some dirt off its leather sleeves, admiring it. It really was a nice coat.

Then the damnedest thing happens.

I'm walking out the alley, lighting up a cigar. And for a second, I smell the angel smell that belonged to my Red. For a second, I forget about my cigar and getting over to the Tripe Ace Club before dawn. I sniff the air again. My nose has never been wrong before. But my mind's not what it used to be. Just means I need my medicine, is all. I shake the smell out of my head and head out towards the end of the alley.

-X-

As Logan's shadow disappears into the darkness, a slim, striking figure steps out from behind a corner. Her flaming red hair hides her features, except for her sparkling, almost glowing green eyes. She raises a small revolver and thumbs back the hammer.

"Bastard," she whispers to the darkness. "You're gonna pay for what you did to me."

-X-

The sun came up as I was about halfway to the Triple Ace Club. I needed to find someplace to hole up during the day.

And here I was just getting warmed up.

-X-

I tossed and turned all day. No good trying to sleep. And it's not the street noise or the stench of this nine-dollar flophouse either, although the smell didn't help any. I'm just too excited. I can't ever sleep when I'm excited. No game on TV. Nothing to do but sit and wait for the damn sun to set and all the pryin' eyes to get out of the way.

I hate the sun. And the eyes.

-X-

The air cools as the hours pass. The sounds change. The suits and briefcases scurry to their fortresses and bolt their doors and balance their checkbooks and ignore the screams and try not to think about who really owns Sin City.

My hands are shaking like a kid's at Christmas by the time I hit the streets. There's blood in my hands, in my arms, pounding between my ears and pushing me forward and telling me I'll never be tired again…

And there's no thinking and no need for it. The instincts take over, white hot. The animal in me, the feral berserker in me, that I tried to drown in booze and bloody brawls, he's back. He's back and he's howling, he's laughing out loud, he's crazy with the pure sweet hate of it all.

It was easy findin' the Triple Ace Club; its gaudy neon lights were burnin' my eyes from blocks away. Tyler Dayspring tried to make the place look like something off the Vegas strip, but all the paint and lights just drew more attention to the cheap imitation the club was.

The bouncers at the door didn't say a word as I entered. I walk through the crowd of losers and degenerate gamblers towards the back. These guys are scum; they'd sell their children to the Devil for another lousy stack of chips.

There was a "No Admittance" sign on a door at the back of the club, with two guys in black suits and sunglasses standing in front of it. They told me to go back to the tables. I told 'em no, but with my fists. Both of 'em went down with no more than a whimper. Good help is so hard to find these days. Takes all the fun out of it.

Tyler Dayspring was takin' a shit in his private bathroom when I kicked in the door to his office. I could smell it from the doorway. It's one of those times when having enhanced senses sucks.

I busted down the bathroom door as Tyler was pullin' up his boxers. He tried to run for the window, but I caught him by the back of the neck and spun him around.

"Didn't your mom teach you that you should always flush when you're done," I growled, as I got right in his face. "Who gave the order?" I asked.

"I ain't saying shit," Tyler said as strongly as he could. I shake my head in disappointment.

"Now that's a real shame," I tell him before I pick him up like a rag doll. I carry him back to the toilet and shove his head into the bowl.

"Feel like talkin' now, Tyler?" I shout as gurgling noises come out of the bowl. "You don't want to say shit? Now you can eat it!" I shout shoving Tyler's head deeper into his own shit. "How many got paid off for the frame, Tyler? Huh?" I don't let up. This arrogant little snot pissed me off. "How many for the kill?"

He gurgles something inaudible and I pull his head out. His head is soaking wet and his long hair is caked with his own crap.

"It was Longshot. He set me up." I push his head back into the bowl, even deeper this time. I slammed the toilet seat down hard across Tyler's chest before pulling him back up.

"He'll never talk," spat Tyler.

-X-

Finding Longshot took longer than finding Tyler. I jumped him while he was getting into his car. Gave him a few hard shots to the kidneys to make him a bit less feisty. I stepped into his car, leaving the door open and started her up. The car was a piece of junk, it rattled like a tin can.

"You know for such a hotshot, would've thought you'd have a nicer car," I mutter to him. He grumbles something under his breath that I choose to ignore. With my right hand, I put the car in gear and with the left I grabbed the back of Longshot's leather jacket. I start to drive away. Longshot tries to get away, but I hold on tight. He was able to run beside the car for a few feet, until I gunned the engine and his feet flew out from under him. I pushed down on the back of his head, shoving his face into the pavement. Longshot's face scraped against the road, tearing his face to ribbons. His arms and legs flail wildly, but I hold on and keep grinding his face into the rough road as I push the car faster and faster. I could just make out his screams over the wind and the engine.

"I don't know about you," I called down to him. "But I'm havin' a ball."

Longshot talks. They always talk.

-X-

Then I go to church. But not to pray.

It's early morning, still dark out, nobody but me is there. I walk in and take a seat inside the confessional booth. A moment later I hear the priest enter the other side of the partition. I can't see him, its too dark in the confessional.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession." I say the words without even thinking. Some unknown memory rushed to the surface uncontrollably. I shake away the memory. Now's not the time to relive the past.

"And vhat have been your sins, my son?" the priest kindly asks in a thick German accent.

"Well, Padre, I don't want to keep you up all night. So I'll just fill you in on the latest batch." I lift up my hands and flick some of Longshot's dried blood off. "These hands of mine, they got blood all over 'em."

The partition slides open, leaving only a layer of thin, cross-hatching wood between the Padre and me. Now I've seen a lot in my day, more than I can even remember. But I was still shocked by the priest's appearance. He had deep Indigo skin and hair, glowing yellow eyes, and I think I saw a spade-tipped tail twitching back and forth in the air.

"You're speaking figuratively," he said in a comical tone. He didn't believe me, so I just keep goin'.

"When I need to find something out, I just go out and look for somebody that know more than me, and I go and I ask them. Sometimes," I chuckle, "I ask pretty hard. By way of a "for instance," I killed three men between tonight and last night. Tortured 'em first," I said calmly. "You might say I've been working my way up the food chain. The first two were minnows – small time hitmen. But it was Longshot, the money man, who fingered you Padre." I could see the priest's yellow eyes go wide in fear. He tried to duck out of the confessional.

Chk-Clank!

I raise the gun I stole from Avalanche last night and held it against the partition. The clicking noise made as I cocked it echoed in the confided space of the confessional.

"You know what that sound means. Sit down," I order.

"Dear Lord, man. Zhis is a house of God," he whispers at me, almost like he's pleading with me.

"Just give me a damn name," I growl menacingly. The priest hesitates for a moment before dropping a bombshell.

"Xavier."

"Ya know, you really are pushin' your luck, Padre, feeding me garbage like that," I say darkly, my patience wearing thin. "It can't be that big."

"There's a farm off North Cross and Lennox. It's all there," he tells me. "See for yourself." His attitude changes drastically. His eyes narrow and his voice drops to a frightening undertone. "And while your at it, ask yourself if that corpse of a slut is worth dying for," he spits at me with pure hatred.

BAM!

Worth dyin' for.

BAM!

Worth killin' for.

BAM!

Worth goin' to hell for.

The priest slumps down in the confessional a bloody, dead mess. He stinks like sulfur and brimstone.

"Amen," I mutter as I blow away the smoke from my gun's barrel.

-X-

I light up a cigar as I walk down the church's front steps. There isn't much better in life than a smoke when you haven't had one for a while. Like after a movie. Or after church. His keys say the Padre drove a Mercedes, or at least what that's what they're pawning off as a Mercedes these days. Modern cars – they all look like electric shavers.

I'm about to open the car door when I hear tires screeching behind me. I spin around to see a convertible peeling down the street at me; it's high beams blinding me. I squint through the glare and level my gun at the speeding car. I catch a glimpse of the driver as the car bears down on me. It's a beautiful woman with flaming red hair and dazzling green eyes.

"Red?" I mutter in disbelief as the cigar falls out of my mouth. I lower the gun.

The car hits me dead on like a wrecking ball, sending me flipping into the air. I land hard on the pavement. I rise to one knee, clutching my bleeding side.

"Red!" I shout at the driver as she wheels around. The car speeds into my face, knocking me back into air. That one hurt. A lot. I watched from the ground as the car spun around. The driver pulled out a small revolver and started blasting at me, even as her car plows into my chest again. I flip through the air like some kid's toy doll and land in a puddle of water. I look up in time to see the car peel away and disappear down some dark street.

I lay there for a moment, letting my healing factor catch up. Adamantium bones don't break so I was up and on my feet again in just a few seconds. I spit some blood out of my mouth before walking slowly back towards the Padre's Mercedes. I don't know where my gun went. Don't really care anyway. My claws will do nicely from now on.

I get into the car and start her up. This one's not as bad as Longshot's. Sounds almost like a decent engine. I pull out and head in the opposite way of Red's car.

No. Not Red. It couldn't be Red.

Sin City falls away behind me, noisy and ugly as all hell, as I head for this farm. My head starts to clear. Things start to make sense. It's my own fault and nobody else's that I got confused. With all the jumbled and mixed up memories in my head, it's hard not to. I would've been all right if I took my medicine like I should have. I've been having so much fun; I forgot to take my medicine. I swallow a handful of pills, spilling some onto the floor of the Mercedes.

"That wasn't Red back there," I say to myself over and over like a mantra. "Red is dead and that's the whole reason I've been doin' what I've been doin'." I keep tellin' myself that all the way to the farm.

* * *

Author's Notes: Here ya go, hope ya all enjoy. My thanks to everyone who's reviewed this fic and for your Jackie Boy suggestions. Keep those reviews comin'. The more I get: the faster the next chapter will be written and posted.

Nataku's Wrath


	6. The Farm

Logan's Tale pt. IV

"The Farm"

Two miles from the farm, I spot a diner and leave the Mercedes in the parking lot and move ahead on foot. If there's anything to what the Padre told me, I've got to play this careful. I cut through the woods that surround the farm. I love the woods at night. Especially the sounds. I can hear all sorts of creatures, big and small, rummaging around. Feels like home.

I creep over a small fence and enter the farm. There's one of those old windmill things makin' all kinds of racket and a broken down barn in the distance. No crops or animals I can see. Then the cold thing, it creeps into my guts and tells me one more time it won't let go. I may get confused sometimes, but the cold thing, it's never wrong and I've learned to trust it. Maybe it's something I smell or hear or spot out the corner of my eye, something I just don't notice. But here it is again, that iceball where my stomach ought to be.

This is a bad place, this farm. People have died here. The wrong way.

And that's when I hear the growling. I spin around and come face to face with a wolf. A big wolf. I haven't seen a wolf this big since the last time I was up north. Somethin' ells me that this one wasn't as friendly as the wild ones were.

"I don't want to fight, pooch," I say in a calm, strong voice. Can't show any fear or weakness with an animal like this. They love the smell of fear; it's like perfume to them, like a sign that says attack.

"I got no gripe with you. Let's just talk, one Canuckle-head to another." The wolf answers by growling even louder. He bares his teeth at me and flattened his ears against his head.

"Easy boy," I say just before he leaps at me. I kick him hard in the side just before he can wrap those jaws of his around my throat. A punch to his shaggy head sends him down whimpering. I bend over and scratch him behind the ears.

"No way I was gonna use my claws on you, buddy," I say as I pet him. "Lookin' at you is like lookin' in a mirror for me. No, it's whoever owns you I'm curious about, because there's blood on your breath, and I think I know what kind."

So, I start to sniff around a bit. Not far off is a pile of fresh dirt that reeks of blood. I start to clear away the loose earth. After a few inches, my hands hit something solid.

"Here we go," I mutter. I grab it and pull it out of the hole. It's a bone, a long femur. This didn't come out of any coyote. I turn my attention back to the hole. Something else became dislodged when I pulled the bone out. I reach back in and pull it out. It's a shoe. A red high heel. This didn't come from a coyote either.

All of a sudden…right behind me…

Footsteps.

Impossible! Nobody can sneak up on me. I turn around just in time as a small but powerful foot slams into my throat. I roll onto the ground choking for air. I steady myself and swing back, but the bastard kicks me in the face. I finally get a good look at my attacker. He's a short guy with green hair and skin, was wearing a Charlie Brown sweeter of all things and glasses, and was hoppin' around on his haunches like a damn frog. I pop my claws and lunge at him. It's like tryin' to cut the air. Bastard is too quick. He ducks under my claws and slashes his sharpened, claw-like fingernails across my wrists. My fingers die as my nerves as tendons and arteries are severed. Before I can retaliate, he claws upwards, raking my face. Pain explodes in my eyes. I go blind.

I start flailing my dead fists in the air, swinging wildly. I can hear the air whistle as my attempts to fight back miss by a mile. I can't hear him at all. Not a sound. Nobody's that quiet. Nobody except the one who snuck into that hotel room two nights ago…

Something hot and sticky wraps around my ankle and pulls my feet out from under me. I fall to the ground with a hard thud. That's when the smell hits me, the stench of decaying meat and sewage hits me so hard, it makes my eyes water. And it all comes together…

"It was you, you bastard!" I shout blindly into the night. "You killed her."

There's a scraping of metal against the ground and I can hear soft footsteps approaching. He wasn't hiding his presence anymore. He knew that it didn't matter, that even as my wrists and eyes healed rapidly, there was still nothing I could do to stop him.

"You killed Red," I growled. "It was…"

WHACK!

I barely saw it comin'. Frog-boy had picked up a sledgehammer. Last thing I saw was the sledge swinging down at my face before the world went black.

-X-

For a while it's outer space with no stars in it, cold and black and bottomless. I tumble and float, weightless as a ghost. For a while I've got no brain and no body and that's fine by me.

Then the broken bits start with their nagging. The jagged little bastards dance like leprechauns, pulling together in a bullies' circle, laughing at me, telling me I'm an even bigger loser than I ever thought I was.

They play it back for me like a movie on rewind—from the sunburst of the sledgehammer—back to the soft chilly skin of the goddess who was murdered in my bed.

I blew it Red. I found your killer, but he was better than me, too quiet and too quick, a killer born. He took me out like I was a girl scout. He didn't even break a slimy sweat…

…But if I'm doing all this thinkin', that means I'm still alive, doesn't?

Why didn't he finish the job? …Or is this the hell I've spent my whole life earning, forever falling, never knowing?

Then the hurt comes. The living hurt. Streaking from behind my eyes. Finding places to have its fun.

A smell hits my nostrils, hard burning antiseptic.

Light grows.

I dive for it.

-X-

My eyes snap open. My vision is still blurry but it'll clear soon enough. I cough up a puddle of blood across the white tile floor. The whole room was made out of tile. A large steel door appeared to be the only way in or out and a small window with bars cutting across it provided the only light from the moon. I crawl on my hands and knees for several minutes until I stop hacking up blood. When I finally stop and look up, I see the damnedest thing.

A rose. A bright red rose.

"Huh?" I mutter in confusion. What the hell was a rose doin' indoors? I shake my head roughly and knock away the remaining cobwebs. I look back up at the rose.

It was a tattoo. A rose tattoo on the cheek of a beautiful girl. Her head, with four others, all beautiful young girls, was mounted on the wall like a trophy deer.

For a minute I think I'm dead, sittin' in Satan's waiting room in Hell, lookin' at a wall of his past wives or somethin'.

"He keeps the heads. He eats the rest."

A familiar voice jerks me back to reality. I turn around and there's another young girl, naked, sitting in the corner of the tiled room.

"Jubilee?" I mutter. For a moment, I think I just need my meds again. But I can smell her, clear as day. She's real, not like the Red that nailed me back at the church.

"It's not just that wolf of his," Jubilee continues, her eyes vacant, just staring out into nothingness. "The wolf just gets scraps. Bones. It's him. He eats people," she says trembling from fear and the cold tile. "He cooks the like they were steaks."

I get up and slide off my jacket. Body feels like tenderized meat, but I try not to wince as I move. "Lets get you warm," I say to Jubes, but she's not really listening. Whatever happened to her before she wound up naked in this room left her traumatized.

"Just like they were steaks," she says again. "Now he's got both of us."

I wrap my coat around her naked shoulders and try to comfort her. "It's all right," I tell her. "Take a nice, slow breath." I wrap my arms around her small frame, but it doesn't do any good. She just keeps right on goin'.

"Just look at the heads on the wall. The heads on the wall," she rants. "The heads on the wall." I gently start to rock her back and forth, but it doesn't help.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaims, her voice cracking with terror. "He kept smiling that damned smile. He made me watch him suck the meat off my fingers." She slowly lifts her left hand out of her lap. It's been cut off at the wrist, a cris-cross of rough stitches closing the still bloody stump.

"Oh, Jesus," I mutter under my breath.

"He made me watch!" shouted Jubilee. "HE MADE ME WATCH!"

-X-

Outside, near a small, barred window, Toad stood motionless in his Charlie Brown sweater as Jubilee's screams echoed across the farm. He doesn't move the whole time, except for a small, damned smile at the corners of his green lips.

-X-

For a long moment we sit on the cold tile, Jubilee held tightly in my arms. She's crying on my shoulder, buckets worth of tears stream down my back and chest. Poor Kid. I didn't mean to drag her into this, never meant for her to get hurt. But best intentions usually don't work out the way you want 'em to. Not in this town. Rage begins to replace my guilt. Now I got another reason to tear this frog hoppin' son of a bitch from limb to limb.

"Christ, I could use a cigarette," Jubilee speaks into my shoulder in her normal, cheerful tone. I smile a bit at her actions. Dames. Sometimes all they gotta do is let it out. And a couple of buckets later, there's no way you'd ever know anything was ever wrong.

Eventually, Jubilee broke our embrace and stood up. I watch as she slides every gorgeous inch of herself into my coat and I shake my head for what must be the millionth time. Hardware like she's got and Jubilee's a dyke. It's a damn crime. But I don't say a word about that. I piped up at her once that maybe she ought to get treatment or something and she hauled off and nailed me with a punch that showed me there was plenty of muscle under all that heaven. But that was years ago and it hasn't got anything to do with getting out of here.

I climbed up the wall and started pullin' at the bars, tryin' to escape. I can still smell frog-boy nearby.

"You've brought us some big trouble this time, Logan," scolds Jubilee as she sucks on one of my cigars. "Whoever's behind this whole thing has his connections right in the department. Any leads?" she asks.

"One guy I talked to told me it was Xavier runnin' the show," I grunt as I pull on the bars. It'd be easier to slice em, but then it'd be a lot harder for Jubilee to climb out.

"Whoever it is, he knew I was checking out that hooker almost before I did," said Jubilee nonchalantly.

Confusion set in once again. "What hooker?" I ask.

"The one you've been obsessing over," she says after taking another drag off the cigar. "Red."

I stop dead in my track as this bombshell hits me. "I didn't know she was a hooker," I say softly, turning my face away. "Doesn't make any difference about anything," I say loudly, more for myself than Jubilee. I pull on the bars again, harder this time. "But I didn't know."

"She was high-class stuff. Top dollar. Must have shown you quite a time," she says coyly. I can't tell from her tone if she's just teasin' me or is a little bit jealous that she didn't get with my angel. Maybe both. Whatever it was I didn't want to talk about it before it got into any more detail (although the idea of Red and Jubilee together did send my imagination into overdrive).

"Let's not talk about that, okay?" It wasn't a request. "Tell me about him. The frog fairy out there who snuck into my room and killed Red and did what he did to you."

"… I never knew what hit me," said Jubilee quietly. "I was walking to my car. That's all I can remember. Then I was in his kitchen. I was paralyzed. I smelled meat cooking." She shuddered at the memory. She looked down at the tiled floor as she spoke. "He'd cut it off before I woke up. My hand, I mean. It didn't even hurt." She turned and looked at the heads mounted on the wall. "Then he made me watch, like I told you."

"Hold on. Quiet," I interrupt. "There's a car comin'."

A pair of headlights cut through the night as a car pulls up to the house. The horn blares twice before a tinted window rolls down.

"Toad!" a voice called from inside the car. The voice was low and had a strange accent. Not quite British, but defiantly a blue blood of some kind, like someone who had been educated overseas.

From my perch in the barred window, I watch Toad trot over to the car. I can't hear what the man inside the car is saying, don't really care anyway. It doesn't matter now. Cuz now I've got a face and a name and that's all that I need.

"I'll see you later Toad," I whisper to the darkness, a promise of pain to come. Anger sweeps through my body and the edges of my vision goes red. Metal groans as my grip tightens around the window bars. With a feral growl, I pull back with all my rage and rip the bars from the window and fall back to the floor with a heavy CLANK! I land on my back with the bars and busted window frame lying on my chest. I heave it all off as Jubilee just stares at me like I just parted the Red Sea or somethin'.

"Let's go," I tell her.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Yeah, this was a shorter chapter, but one I thought was important enough to stand alone. Lots more action to come in the next chapter and an old enemy drops by for kicks. Keep reading and reviewing and I'll keep writing.


	7. Jean

Logan's Tale pt. V

"Jean"

* * *

It took a little bit of work, but I managed to get Jubilee out of the hole where the window bars used to be. I quickly crawled out behind her.

A police chopper kicks up cold desert wind as it approached the farm. A bright searchlight flashed from the chopper as we ran by a broken down fence. The light passed over us and I reflexively froze beneath the light and pulled Jubilee closer. The light passed on and I picked Jubilee up and took off towards the woods. Jubilee's like a kitten under my arm, soft and weightless and warm. We make it to the woods and I crouch down behind a tree.

The chopper lands in a small square of space beside the house and seven men, all packin' Uzi's, jump out of it with military precision. Six of 'em were cops: each in full riot gear with their dopey plastic visors down. The seventh, the leader looked more beast than man. He was tall, nearly seven feet and had long, golden-blonde hair, almost like a mane. He was big, hiding most of his muscle beneath a long black coat, but just barely. He had clawed hands, vicious looking things that ended in curved talons. His face was more savage and feral than mine with erratic tribal tattoos around his eyes, but it seemed vaguely familiar to me.

_Snikt!_

My claws popped all on their own, like they remember something I don't. I can't sheathe them, my claws won't go back. That cold thing in my gut explodes into raging fire. I hate this man. Don't know why, but every nerve, every instinct is telling me to rip him apart slowly and show him his own guts.

-X-

The troop of cops and their mangy leader ran directly into the house. I can here 'em tearing the place apart lookin' for us. They soon came back outside. I could see the leader pointing towards the woods and barking orders to his men.

"They're done checking the house," I whispered to Jubilee. "They're comin' this way…" I rose to my feet and brandished my claws. "Bastards…I'll show 'em."

KUDD!

I only took one step towards the cops before Jubilee hit me in the back of the head with the biggest rock she could lift with one hand. Everything went out of focus for a minute and my claws finally retracted.

"You're not gonna get either of us killed, Wolvie," Jubilee said. She trotted away from me and out of the woods. The cops saw her immediately and they all turned to fire upon her.

"No! Don't shoot!" she shouted over the whine of the helicopter. "Please, listen to me," she said as she approached, her good hand and stump raised above her head innocently. "I'm his parole officer," she explained. "He's unconscious and unarmed, er well sort of. So there's no need to kill him."

Tattoo looked at Jubilee curiously before a massive clawed hand sprang up and seized her by the throat. Jubilee's eyes widened in terror as he roughly pulled her close to him.

"Scream for me," he growled through his fang-like teeth. Jubilee opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Tattoo squeezed tighter and easily lifted her off the ground. Jubilee's feet danced in the air as she tried to pry the clawed fingers off her throat. Tattoo grinned at her futile attempts and slowly, deliberately raised his Uzi from his side and showed it to her. Jubilee tried to scream at the sight of the gun and struggled harder. Tattoo's fanged grin grew even larger as he aimed the Uzi at her chest and pulled the trigger.

BREKK! BREKK! BREKK!

Waves of bullets slammed into Jubilee's chest and her body danced while Tattoo held her by the neck. He let go and her body flopped to the ground, dead. But he didn't stop.

BREKK! BREKK!

The son of a bitch kept firing; kept blasting away with his Uzi until Jubilee's beautiful face was almost unrecognizable. And all the while, Tattoo grinned. That ugly, fang-ridden smile was etched across his features and he loved it all. The blood, the death, the pain; he drank it in like a connoisseur drinks wine.

-X-

I was still reeling from Jubilee's shot to my head when he killed her. It was the smell that brought me around. The stench of blood mixed with the cold desert wind and made me wanna puke. And then I saw what that tattooed freak had done to my Jubilee. That made me mad. But seeing him enjoying it so much, taking such satisfaction and pleasure in her death, that made me feral…

My vision turned red as I leapt to my feet, claws springing out of my clenched fists. Blood still trickled from the back of my head, but it barely registered in my brain. My bestial side took over and the rest of the world faded into the background. Nothing mattered anymore: not Red, not Toad, not the mysterious man in the car. The only thing that mattered was the utter destruction of the tattooed beast that butchered my Jubilee.

I was about to charge when a gleam of metal caught my eye. I stopped to look. It was a hatchet wedged in a tree stump. A delightful idea sprang into my mind and my claws slowly slid back into their housings. I pop the hatchet out of the stump and begin to stalk silently towards the cops.

One of the cops ran up besides Tattoo as he finally stopped shooting Jubilee. "Captain, the target—there's no sign of him," the cop reported.

"Here's a sign!" I roar as I leap to attack. The 1st cop had his back to me. I lowered the hatchet and swung it up in-between his legs. It connected with a gross squelch and he screamed and sank to his knees. By now all the cops were comin' at me. I pop the claws in my left hand and slash across the chest of the first one to reach my, while the hatchet in my right hand gashed the belly of the cop right behind him. His guts came streaming out and landed in a gross pile upon the lawn.

After that it got fun…

The 3rd cop came at me sideways, like I wouldn't notice him or somethin'. I sidestepped in front of him and swung the hatchet down onto his head, cleaving his helmet and skull in half.

I kicked cop number 4 in the chest and spun around to surprise number 5 while he snuck up on me. My hatched sliced through his throat, nearly decapitating him.

I turned my attention back to number 4 and started hacking at his chest with the hatchet while he lay on the ground. Blood squirted onto my arms and stained my t-shirt red, but I didn't care. It was payback time and these bastards deserved everything they got.

BREKK! BREKK!

More Uzi fire. I don't even pick up my head. With my healing factor, the only thing an Uzi is going to do to me is piss me off even more. Not a single bullet came close to me anyway. Cop number 6 accidentally ran into the line of fire when his Tattooed Captain was trying to shoot me. Cop took the bullets for me. How sweet.

I finish hacking up the cop and leave the hatchet buried in the gaping hole that used to be his chest. I stood up and stared down the Tattooed Captain. He was fiddling with his Uzi. The damn thing had jammed on him. He threw the worthless weapon away and stared back at me, his beady little eyes bloodshot with hate.

I pop the claws from my right hand and brandish all six razor sharp blades at him.

"Now that's a fine looking coat you're wearing, bub."

-X-

Tattoo looked at his coat then back at me. Then he threw his back and laughed. He laughter was dark and gruesome, like this was all a tragic joke that only he understood. He was laughing so hard he doubled over and held his stomach. His laughter threw me off and I stopped my attack. I waited just outside of arm's reach until he pulled himself back together and stopped laughing.

"Who are you?" I growled angrily. "How do you know me, you egg-suckin' piece of gutter trash?"

"Hoo-ha!" he laughed again. "Ya know, for someone who can't remember me at all, you sure have prejudged me some." He laughed again. "You'd think I came over to your house and ripped your girlfriend's throat out or something!

"What did you say?" I snapped. My surprised reaction must have been hysterical cuz Tattoo burst into laughter again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But this is so damn funny!" He started laughing again. "After all these years and all the shit between us that's all you can say?" He snorted while laughing and doubled over again. _"That's a fine looking coat you're wearing,"_ he mocked, matching my tone and voice almost perfectly. "I heard they did a number on you back in the slammer, but I never excepted you to forget me. HAHAHAHA! It's like I never even broke into your house and killed your girl at all! HAHAHAHA!"

Blood began to flow from my tightly clenched fists and my hands started to shake. Memories long forgotten flashed before my eyes:

_A cabin in the North Woods…_

_Happiness…_

_Peace… _

_A girl…Silver Fox…_

_Bloody claws…_

_Murder…_

"Sabretooth…" I muttered.

"Ding, Ding, Ding!" he laughed. He threw his arms dramatically up into the air like an old game show host. "The answer is your ol' pal Sabretooth! Johnny, tell the runt what he's won!"

I couldn't take it anymore: the laughing, the mocking, the flashbacks and memories, the stench of blood in the air.

"RRROOAARRRRRRGH!"

I leapt at Sabretooth claws first and caught him by surprise. My claws sank into his barrel chest all the way to my knuckles. He roared in pain and snarled at me. He grabbed my wrists and slowly pulled my claws out of his chest. Blood squirted from the wounds before the gashes stopped bleeding and healed before my eyes.

"Aw, shit," I muttered. Sabretooth bared his fangs in a sadistic smile and threw me into a nearby tree. I broke right through the tree and collapsed on the ground.

Sabretooth calmly took off his jacket and stood on the ruined tree stump. ""I hate you, Wolverine. I've hated you ever since the second you waltzed into Weapon X with powers like mine and fooled everybody into thinkin' you were the top dog. The only laughs I remember were when I offed your wife and that ugly little kid of yours."

"You're lying."

"Guess that's something you'll never know, precious," taunted Sabretooth.

"You son of a bitch!" I back on my feet and charging wildly. Sabretooth met my charge, ducking under my claws and using his own. I fell to the ground under his attack, my chest torn to ribbons. I wheezed for air as blood poured into my lungs, drowning me. It took a moment, but my healing factor kicked in and saved me. Meanwhile, Sabretooth took the opportunity to taunt me again. He stood directly over me and looked down at my face.

"Ya know, me and you runt, we're a lot alike. We're both killers. We both love the hunt and the kill and the feel of blood on our hands.

"NO!" I shout back at him.

"See that's the attitude that's always held you down runt. You've never given in to that beast inside; you're always fighting against it, always afraid of being your true self. You're an animal Wolverine, just like me. Except I accepted what I am and its made all the difference. You'll always be only second best. I've always been bigger, stronger, faster than you. You're nothing more than a stupid runt," he sneered.

"That maybe true, bub," I coughed. I snapped my arm up and jabbed my claws in-between Sabretooth's legs.

"AAUGGH!" he roars in pain and drops to his knees, clutching the tattered remains of his groin. I slowly get back to my feet.

"At least I've got enough brains to cover my family jewels in a fight!" I got back up on my feet and held my still healing chest. With my free hand I grabbed Sabretooth's thick mane of hair and dragged him to the remains of the tree he put me through. Spotting a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs on one of the cops' belt, I slapped them around Sabretooth's think wrists and bound him to the stump, leaving his head exposed like a man on a chopping block just waiting for an axe.

"Not bad for a runt, huh bub?" I ask as I rummage through his coat pockets. I produce a pack of cigarettes and one of those cheap plastic lighters. "Don't you know these are very bad for you," I mock and light one up.

"RRRROOOWWW! Let me go!" snarled Sabretooth.

"In a minute," I reply, taking a drag off the cigarette. "But I got some questions for you first."

-X-

The rain is comin' down in sheets by the time I walked back to town. Rain doesn't come to Sin City real often. And when it does, it's usually pretty lame stuff: warm as sweat and lucky if gets to the pavement before it evaporates.

But maybe twice a year the desert sky really coughs it up and spits it out, like right now. A cold, mean torrent that turns the streets to glass and chills you to the bone. Most people hate the rain when it's cold and nasty like this. But me, I love it. It helps me think.

I'm not real smart, but I feel a whole lot smarter when everything goes slick and everybody skitters off the streets and gets out of my way.

I love the rain. I love the icy way it creeps down my neck. The way the air goes electric and everything goes clear. The way it washes your sins away…

I felt real bad about what happened to Jubilee back there on the farm. I know it's not my fault she died; Sabretooth's the one who killed her. But I'm the one who got her involved and got into this mess.

And now I'm walkin' down the Basin City Bridge in the rain and I keep coming back to what Sabretooth and what he told me. I was pretty feral between all the bad memories he brought back and what he'd done to Jubilee, so I took my time with that son of a bitch. It wasn't till I showed him all those pieces of himself that he said it. Just a name at first. Back when the freaky priest said it I figured he was jerkin' my chain. But hearin' it from Sabretooth I knew it couldn't be coincidence.

Just a name.

Xavier.

Then he said some nonsense 'bout seein' me on my birthday. Whatever the hell that means…

Charles Francis Xavier, man of the cloth.

"Saint Charlie," they call him, but it's just a nickname. The Pope hasn't gotten around to makin' it official…not yet anyway. Maybe he's waiting for me to kill him first.

I didn't do it on purpose, but in my walking back into town I ended up in the middle of Main Street Square and the hundred-foot statue dedicated to the great Cardinal Xavier. I stared up at the likeness and laughed a bit. It's a statue of a man standing up and extending his hand to the masses. Funny part is that Xavier hasn't stood up since he did a tour in Vietnam. Land mine or somethin' messed us his spine, but a cripple ever since.

The Xavier family has owned Sin City since the days of wagon trains and six-guns. Over the generations their millions have grown to billions. They're kinda like our own Royal Family.

A while back, you couldn't walk into a bar or restaurant or hell anywhere without hearin' people goin' on about him. Man of the cloth. War hero in the medical corps. Philanthropist. World-renowned geneticist. Man could've become president, but he chose to serve God instead.

And along the way, he happened to become the most powerful man in the state. He's brought down mayors and governors like they were nothing. He even made his rotten brother a US senator without breakin' a sweat.

And here he's gonna get killed in the name of a dead hooker.

I walk up the stairs to the base of the statue and take it all in. There's a faceplate on the base that reads: CARDINAL CHARLES XAVIER: THE RIGHT HAND OF GOD

_Snikt!_

I pop my claws and slash across the lettering, leaving deep gashes in the text. I step back from the mutilated faceplate and laugh.

"Man of God killed over you Red," I laugh. I'm getting used to the idea. More and more, I'm liking the sound of it. I turn and step away from the statue and back into the icy rain.

Then it hits me like a kick in the nuts. I fall to my knees and hold my head up towards the heavens.

What if I'm wrong? I've got a condition; my memory is all jumbled up. And with Jubilee dead, I can't get my medicine.

What if I've imagined all of this? If I could forget someone like Sabretooth and what he did to me, I could have easily imagined all of this. Even Red. Hell, it's been a while since I was with a woman, especially one like her. She could have been a dream, a silly pipedream brought on from too many nights of watchin' Emma at Kadie's.

What if I've finally turned into what they've always said I was gonna turn into? A maniac. A psycho killer. What if what Sabretooth said was true? What if I am turning into a bloodthirsty, sadistic animal like him?

I stand up and shake some rain out of my hair. Can't kill a man, especially one as important as Xavier, without know for sure you ought to. I've got to know for sure.

-X-

The rain's sputtered to a stop and the streets have come back to life by the time I make my way to Old Town. The merchandise is on display, a collection of skimpy lingerie and very reveling outfits, never mind the wet cold. Pretty soon everything from pickups to limos will be pulling in and business will be booming.

Old Town is the reason why nobody calls this burg "Basin City" like it says on the maps. It was Saint Charlie's great-grandfather who made it happen. Back when this was a gold rush town on its way to becoming a ghost town.

Then old man Xavier got an idea. He spent every silver dollar he had, importing the top hookers from France and places like that. Word got around and pretty soon Sin City was the hottest stop in the west. People would come from miles around for one night in hooker heaven. They still do and it's easy to see why. Old Town's kept its traditions, handed down from gorgeous mother to gorgeous daughter.

For an hour or so I ask around about Red. I don't get any answers, but I know I'm bound to. Jubilee said red was a hooker and if she was she has roots here. Friends. Maybe even family.

I was interrogatin' some broad in a Wonder Woman costume when suddenly Red stepped out of the shadows, holding a revolver and aiming right at me. Before I could do anything a shot rang out and my right shoulder exploded in gore and went dead for a moment.

I stared at the red-haired angel as she walked closer to me. "You can't be Red," I winced. "Red's dead."

She doesn't say a word, just raises her pistol and takes aim again.

BAM!

The bullet slammed into my forehead, right about my right eye. The force of impact knocked me off my feet, twisting me as I fell so that I landed partially on my face. The last thing I heard was the bullet ringing off the adamantium in my head before the world spiraled into blackness.

-X-

After awhile the world stopped spinning and somebody turned the lights back on in my head. I shook my head and blinked a couple times to get it back together. I tried to stretch my aching muscles, but I couldn't move. Think ropes bound me to a wooden chair, wrapping around my neck, shoulders, wrists, and ankles. I licked my parched lips and tasted fresh blood. Between that and the soreness on my checks and nose, someone's been workin' me over while I was out.

I look up and take in the room. It's a dive, sort of like the room Red and I stayed in. I look around and see my captor. I let out a humorless laugh and smiled. "Heh. Red. Yeah, sure, right." She takes a drag off a cigarette and stares down at my coldly, all the light I saw in those eyes before long burned out. "It's okay, Red. I got nobody to blame but me. I brought it all this on myself and there's no use denying it. I haven't had anything to eat or gotten any sleep or taken my medicine for days now. So it's no wonder I'm seeing thing, is it?" I swipe my head from side to side to get the blood out of my eyes. I look up at the angel, but she says nothing, just continues to smoke her cigarette. So I just kept talking. "I'm no brain surgeon, but I'm smart enough to know it when I'm crazy. Right now I'm probably lying in a gutter someplace talkin' to myself. All I know for sure is I don't know nothing about nothing. But I don't care because if you can't trust what you see there's no call to take anything seriously." I stopped to take a look around the room. There were several other girls, hookers from the looks of them, standing around. "Who the hell are they?" I asked Red.

"Bastard!" she answered me and pistol-whipped me in the face. The butt of the gun smacked off my skull with a loud crack. I saw stars for a minute then started to laugh. Nothing was funny; in fact my face was really starting to hurt. But I found the fact that my angel had shot me, tied me up, and was beating the shit out of me to be hilarious.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" my laughter grew louder and grimmer. One of the girls was sitting backwards on a chair besides me. She was young, probably not even 20 yet, had bright blue eyes, and at least a dozen crosses hanging from her neck. She cringed at the sound of my laughter.

"He's crazy," she whispered.

Another girl stood up. Her flowing white hair was a drastic contrast to her flawless coffee skin. She was a wearing black leather bondage outfit, clearly designed to leave little to the imagination. Pure sexiness and attitude radiated off her in waves. She smiled at my laughter and her slightly younger companion's uneasiness.

"Relax Kitty. He's just trying to mess with us. Hit him again, Jean," she said. "Harder."

The pistol came down again. This time is wasn't the wooden butt that hit me; it was the cold steel barrel across the bridge of my nose. I heard the cartilage crack and then re-crack as my healing factor fixed it immediately. I laughed again.

"You know, you shouldn't ought to hit me that way, Red. With the barrel I mean. You'll knick it out of whack and the gun'll be useless," I tell her. "If you're going to pistol-whip somebody, do it right and use the handle like you did the first time."

KRACK!

She didn't listen to me. She hit me with the barrel again; this time in the temple.

"Wait a minute," I said, interrupting her next swing. "Why did she call you Jean?"

Red leaned in close, got right in my face. "Because that's my name, you ape. Red was my sister," she explained. Her voice was dripping venom and hatred for me. "My twin sister."

"I guess she was the nice one," I grumbled.

A new fire ignited in Red's, no Jean's eyes and she started hitting me again. The pistol came down across my face, then back across the other side, and then across my nose again. I spit up a wad of blood when she backed off.

Red and the other six—where are they?" she asked. "What did you do to them?"

So that's what all this is about. The dames that Toad killed. And these damn hookers thought it was me. I shook my and glared up at Jean.

"You crazy goddamn broad. Just take a look at this mug," I growled. "Would any of you dames let me get close enough to you to kill you?" I didn't give her a chance to answer. "None of you would, but Red. And she only did because she thought I could protect her." Jean rolled her eyes at me. She didn't believe a word I was sayin'. So I began to really lay it on her.

"And I bet those cops didn't do a damn thing about those other girls, did they? Damn straight they didn't. But as soon as they had me for a fall guy, they showed up, guns blazing. But they didn't get me, and I've been killing my way to the truth ever since."

I looked her dead in the eye and gave her my best death glare. "So, go ahead, doll. Shoot me now, or get the hell out of my way."

Jean raised the pistol and cocked the hammer back. I didn't even blink. I just glared into her eyes. Kitty sat up in her chair, she eyes filled with fear. The bondage queen grinned in anticipation. I don't think she likes me.

Jean keeps her pistol leveled at me for another moment before slowly easing back the hammer and lowering the gun.

"Aw, nuts," complained the Lil' Miss Bondage.

"Ok," I said cheerfully. "I'm glad we got all that sorted out." I raised my arms and easily tossed off the thick ropes that were "holding me down."

"What the hell?" exclaimed Jean.

"I tied those knots!" cried Bondage girl in disbelief. "That's my specialty!"

I stood up and stretched my tired muscles. Jean stared at me like I suddenly grew a second head or something. "You sat there and took it," she said. "You could've taken my gun away from me any time you wanted to."

I took a cigar out of my pocket and sparked a match. "Well, sure," I said. "I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you. And I probably would have had to paste you one, and I don't hurt girls.

-X-

I excused myself and walked into the bathroom. I hunch over the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Urgh. Even I think I look like shit. I wipe the blood off and I take a deep breath and I take a good long look at the monster in the mirror.

"Don't screw up this time, Logan," I say to myself. "It's too important. Right now, while you're alone, feel the fear and get past it. Go ahead. Shake like a junkie. Let your heart crawl up into your throat. Let your stomach squeeze itself into a gold ball, into one of those black holes that sucks everything into it. Think about dying. Think hard. Picture it. Something quick, something painless, if you're lucky."

I sigh heavily and hang my head against the cool surface of the mirror. I'm just foolin' myself. I know what I have to do and I know exactly how it's going to end. It's going to be a long, bad joke of a trail and a longer wait in a cell until they strap you into that chair and a million volts send you straight to hell and they'll call you a psycho killer who got what was coming to him.

Picture that. Feel it. Get used to it. Then put it back inside where it belongs. You've got some people to kill, people who really deserve it. And if you do it right you it wont matter what anybody says. You'll go to the grave a winner.

"Yeah right," I mutter to my reflection. I throw up a couple of times and then I'm ready.

-X-

I went back to the girls, grabbed my coat and hatchet off the floor. I slung on my coat and started to tie the belt, when I realized all three girls were starring at me. I tried my hardest to ignore them.

"I need a pair of handcuffs," I gruffly demand.

"What style you want?" asks the Bondage girl. "I got a collection."

No surprise there.

"Just give him the ones you've got with you, Ororo," said jean impatiently as she put on her own coat. Ororo shrugged and pouted, but handed over the silver cuffs she had clipped to her skimpy leathers.

"Let's go," said Jean and we headed down to her car. I smiled when I saw it. The front end was still banged up from her hit-and-run attack on me the other night.

-X-

I try not to look at her too much while she drives. It makes it worse when I do. But when I close my eyes for too long it happens anyway. I get confused and start thinkin' she's Red. She's got the smell and the voice just like she's got the looks. Everything's telling me she's Red and I have to keep reminding myself she isn't. Red's dead and the angel sitting next to me, she's Jean. Red's twin sister.

And she's one tough bird. She's bounced me around a parking lot with her cute little Porsche. She's shot me and pistol-whipped the hell out of me and it took some fast-talking to keep her from putting a bullet in my brainpan, _squish_.

"She's Jean, red's twin sister.

I can't let myself get confused about that.

"It was a farm boy named Toad who killed Red," I said, trying to break the uneasy silence between us. "Never seen anything like him. Knocked me flat. But it's Xavier who's behind it and I don't know why."

"Xavier. No kidding," replied Jean in disbelief.

"I know that sounds crazy," I tell her, but mostly I just said it to reassure myself.

"No, it doesn't. Red worked the clergy."

"Red worked the clergy..." Just like that a whopper of a puzzle piece falls smack in my lap. I'm too dumb to put the whole picture together yet but…

_But she fires up two cigarettes and hands me one and I taste her lipstick on it and suddenly my hearts pounding so loud I cant hear anything else. I want to cry and I want to laugh at the craziness of it all. But mostly I want to reach over and touch her and taste Red's sweat one more time._

But she isn't Red.

Jean's driving was something to be desired. She ran every light and road sign on the road. She was weaving through cars like a downhill skier, pissing off every driver on the road. She took a hill at close to 90 mph and jumped over another car, scraping against the roof on the way down.

I saw her mouth moving, but couldn't hear a word over the endless honking and screeching of tires behind us. "…Did you saying something, Jean?"

"She was my sister. I loved her. So I'm in this to the end," she said seriously. But why you? Why are you willing to go up against Xavier for somebody you barely knew?" she asked.

"She was nice to me," I said simply.

"She was desperate. She needed protection and knew how to keep you around. It didn't work out. You don't owe her anything," argued Jean.

"She was nice to me. She gave me something I didn't know existed. She was kind to me when she didn't need to be and that's something I've never had in as long as I can remember. My whole life people been usin' me, treatin' me like a weapon or an animal. But she treated me like a man, a real human being, and I'll always owe her for that."

Jean just stared at me with a new light in her eyes. I knew she had only thought of me as a thug, a weapon, an animal. Jean was beginning to see the man beneath the Wolverine. I smiled a bit at that. Maybe she was more like Red than I thought.

I took a drag off the cigarette and looked off at the brightening horizon. "The sun's coming up. We better get out of sight. I know a place. It's a dive but they keep their mouths shit. Take El Redondo to the Bridge.

"Yes, Logan."

* * *

Author's notes:

Shout-outs for all my reviewers!

PoisonRogue: I'm glad to have created an addiction as powerful as drugs, booze, chocolate, etc. Thank you for enjoying my writing so much. I'll try to satisfy your addiction by updating often. Either that or you'll have to start paying me for your "fix."

The Frog Prince of Crime:Love your pen name. As for Phoenix, you're gonna see some flames in the next chapter. I'm not planning on using Ol' Bucket Head for a little while so you're going to have to wait on him. Keep reading and watch for him.

Coldqueen: I'm honored that this is officially your favorite story. Keep on reading. I'm going to do "The Big Fat Kill" with Dwight (Remy) and the girls next so stick around for that. Keep reviewing too, send me some suggestions on what you like and what I should include.

mazdamiatta:Glad you like the fic. I've been reading your "Xavier Rehabilitation Center for Gifted Youngsters" fic and I like it alot. Keep it up and keep reading and reviewing.

Raven Eyes1: Sorry but I had to have Sabretooth and Logan clash. It wouldn't be right if they didn't. The Marvel Gods would have come down and smited me with bolts of lightning if I didn't.

Tokyo Fox: Well, i'm glad you like my story despite hating SIN CITY in general. I hope you still are reading my fic and I hope you give me some more feedback on what you think.

CatLadyinTraining: When do you get to be a full Cat Lady? I'm glad you like my crossover idea. Keep reading and keep reviewing.

Etienne: Great minds think alike it seems. Scott-Hartigan and Emma-Nancy were natural choices, as was Logan-Marv and Jean-Goldie/Wendy. Some of the others I've had to think hard about. Let me know if you have any ideas for others.

MEGAN: Glad you like the story. Sorry, but I have no idea who Pete Wisdom is, so I don't see a love triangle working out.

MIke: glad you loved the story. I considered Nightcrawler for Kevin's role, but I thought Toad was a more disgusting and creepy choice. Plus Nightcrawler was perfect for the priest since he is the most spiritual character. Give me some more feedback.

Shockgoddess: Dwight and the girls is coming up in a few more chapters. It seems everybody is waiting on them so I'm going to get on that soon.

everwing: Glad you like the Sin City/ X-Men combo.

Old Slumber: Well, Angel made another apperance and will pop in for a bit every now and then. Maybe I'll break out the ol' steel bladed wings of Archangel.

FUCKtheFCC: great name. I happen to agree with you there. Glad you like the fic, keep on reading.

Simba317: Glad I have you intrigued, but I'm still waiting on that long review. Now you've got me intrigued.

I thank you all for your reviews and I can only say that I want more. Reviews are a writers bread and butter and they keep me going, keep me writing. Without you, the readers, this story means nothing. Thank you very much for your reviews.

Nataku's Wrath


	8. Payback

Logan's tale pt. VI

"Payback"

* * *

The sun goes down good and early so the stores are still open. Jean and me go shopping with her money. 

We pull into a little mom and pop hardware store and I get to work. The place is like a candy shop to me. I see the shovels and axes and power tools and hundreds of devilish ideas swim through my head. I pace around the aisles for a moment before stopping in front of the handsaws. I pick up a hacksaw and run my finger over the various blades and smile. Jean shudders. I pick up the biggest one and graze it across my arm. It snaps against the leather sleeve. I shake my head in disgust at the cheap blade and toss the remains over my shoulder. I take the handle and walk up towards the counter.

"You got any stronger blades for this?" I ask the old man behind the counter. He disappears beneath the counter and reemerges with a bigger, thicker blade. I snap it into place and run the tool over my sleeve again. The new blade shreds the leather and bites into my flesh with ease.

"Yeah, this'll do," I say pleased. "I'm also gonna be needing a dozen two-foot lengths of rubber tubing and a spool of razor wire and those special gloves that'll let me handle the wire."

"Beefing up the old home security, huh?" the old man questions as he gets the items I wanted. I glared at him through the sides of my eyes. His face paled and I could hear his pacemaker skip a beat.

"You shouldn't poke your nose into other people's business," I growled at him. He nodded frantically and finished gathering my things.

-X-

"Stop at the next gas station," I told Jean as we drove away.

"But the tank's full…" she argued. I gave her one of my famous grins, the one that always scared the shit out of the bums and bastards that messed with me over the years. It didn't scare Jean that much, but she got the drift.

"Oh, never mind." And she pulled into the first gas station she saw.

I walked into the gas station and bought one of those big red plastic cans for storing gas. As if filled it up, the attendant inside was staring at me. He followed my every move and every time I looked at him he would turn away.

When I stepped towards him to pay, he took my money without looking up at all. He just hung his head and passed me my change across the counter. I took it and left quickly. I checked over my shoulder as I opened the door. The attendant was whispering into the phone and kept sneaking looks back at me. When he saw me looking, he quickly spun around. I left the station and hurried over to Jean's convertible.

"We better get moving. I think that guy back there recognized me," I told her.

"You do kind of stand out," she teased. I ignored her and climbed into the passenger seat. She followed suit and we drove off.

"Take Las Virgenes to Lennox and cut through the woods."

"Whatever you say, Logan."

She doesn't ask any questions. Classy dame. I take my mind off her and crawl back inside myself. It's almost killing time and I better get sharp. Toad was better than me last time, but now I'll see him coming. It's going to be on my terms this time and I got plenty of dirty tricks up my sleeves.

I check the list:

Rubber tubing.

Gas.

Saw.

Gloves.

Cuffs.

Razor wire.

Jean's gun.

_Snikt_! And my claws.

"We're close enough. Pull over," I tell Jean.

"Yes, Logan."

I try to light up a smoke, but my hands are too shaky. I don't think she notices.

-X-

She pulls over in the woods just outside the farm. I can still smell Jubilee's blood in the air and it makes my own blood boil. I pop the truck and pull out the gas can and face Jean. Her eyes, the once green orbs were now glowing fiery red-orange, are burning holes through me but still she doesn't ask. She knows I'm the only chance she has.

"Stay here. Keep the engine running," I tell her. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, get the hell out of here and don't look back."

Jean looks at me with those raging, burning eyes. Her thirst for vengeance radiated off her in waves, like heat simmering off the street on a summer's day. "Kill him for me, Logan. Kill him good," she tells me.

" I won't let you down, Red. I promised."

-X-

It isn't long before I break into a run. I can't help myself.

No shaking, now. No cold sweat. No doubts. The fear got out for a little while there, but now it's crawled back in, far away, a small cold thing lost in a belly that's full of fire.

The woods go silent around me, all the critters scared off. They know I'm just one more predator and I'm bigger and meaner that the rest.

All I've ever been good at is killing so I might as well enjoy it this time.

-X-

I sneak up to the edge of the farm and look across its empty fields. Somebody already got rid of the bodies, but the grass is still stained and slick with their blood. I'm takin' a big risk comin' back here.

I'm gambling that none of them think I'm dumb enough to come after them, that they told Toad to sit tight and figured I bugged out of town.

Toad's got to still be here. He's got to.

He's got to.

I pick up the spool of razor wire and began to wrap it around various trees and fence posts. Even with the gloves on, I got to be careful with the razor wire. It's no fun to accidentally slice open your own hands, even if the wounds heal in next to no time. I wrap the wire in a weaving pattern, a net to catch a toad in. I finish off the reel and cast it aside. I take the bulky gloves off and stuff a rag down the mouth of the gas tank. Once the gas is ready, I wait and I watch the house.

Here we go. A light flashed inside the house. I could see Toad… heading downstairs. To the kitchen. Getting himself a midnight snack…and I can guess what kind.

_Chikk_! I flick the top of my lighter and spark a flame. I light the rag and watch it burn for a second. I ran forward and hurl the flaming gas can at the house. It crashes through a window and a heartbeat later, Toad crashed through another window.

BOOM! The farmhouse erupts in a pillar of flame. I laugh.

"Like that Toad?" I shout over the roar of the explosion and start firing Jean's gun at the slimy bastard. He dodged every shot I fired, the agility and nimbleness of this son of a bitch was starting to actually impress me. I fire the gun empty then slip into the darkness of the woods. "Come on, boy! Don't be scared!" I taunt as I melt into the woods.

I take my coat off and pull the handcuffs out of my pocket. I snap one end around my own wrist and let it dangle for now.

"Come on. Come on, come on you son of a bitch," I growl as I wait in the shadows. Toad was quickly running in my direction. He's almost at the wire. Don't look down, boy. Don't look down.

Just before the wire, Toad coiled his legs and frog leaped over my net of razor wire. He flew over it. He never looked down; it was like he just knew it was there all along. Damn, he's slick.

I waited as he spotted my scarecrow. I hung my coat off the branch of a tree, in the darkness it looked like it really could be me. Toad took the bait and leapt at it. He struck my coat with one of those leaping kicks he hit me with the last time. Realizing it was just a coat; Toad spun around and searched the area for me.

_Snikt_!

My claws slid out of their housings and I lunged from my hiding spot like a lion; claws first and teeth bared in a loud roar.

"RRROOAARRRRRRGH!"

Toad reacted quickly and rolled with my attack. I flipped over him, my claws only cutting the air. Before I could pounce again, Toad was already all over me. I wasn't even all the way on my feet when the first kick caught me in the side of my neck, snapping my head around. As I brought me face back around, another kick hit me right under the chin, jarring my face backwards. Before I could recover from that kick, Toad jumped and lashed out his slimy, disgusting tongue like a whip. It smacked me across the face, leaving a trail of slime on me and knocking me over. Toad's powerful legs had launched him high into the air when he tongue slapped me and now he came down hard, driving both his feet into my face. I could hear my nose breaking and could see the blood spray into the air. Toad ground his heels into my face for a moment before hopping off. He crouched and patiently waited for me, like when a cat plays with a mouse before moving in for the kill.

I coughed up a pint of blood as I struggled to my feet, the wounds on my face already healing. "Is that the best you can do, bub?" I growled. Toad's answer came in the form of another kick to the face. I think I made him mad.

Toad keeps on top of me, driving his knees into my gut. The wind gets knocked out of me and I gasp for air like a fish out of water. Then he starts to use those hands of his with the razor sharp manicure. I try to fight back, but he just ducks under my claws and uses his own across my chest. I smile as new pain blossoms with each breath. It's just what I wanted. I wanted him to use those hands, to get in close. I can take it.

_SNAP_!

I snap the loose end of the cuffs around Toad's wrist, shackling him to me. I hold my hand up and drag his with it. He stares at the cuffs with those emotionless eyes of his then looks into my savage eyes.

"I got you, you little bastard," I sneer. "Let's see you hop around now!" He jumps up and kicks me in the face again, but the chain holds and he lands right besides me. He slams both feet into my chest and springboard away, but the cuffs hold and I yank him back.

_Snakt_! I retract the claws on my free hand and let him have it. I punch him with all my strength and let the adamantium in my body do the rest. The punch hits him dead center of his face. It shatters his glasses and his jaw explodes in a bright red froth of spit and blood. He goes down, slimy bastard couldn't take more than one punch. He flopped down and lay still at my feet.

For a while I just try to slow my heart down and breath the fire out of my lungs, let my healing factor do its job. My muscles twitch with exhaustion and make me a thousand promises of pain to come.

"Urgh, I'm gonna be sore in the mornin'," I complain as I roll the kinks out of my neck.

The night's all quiet now that the fight is over. So quiet even the crickets seem loud. Then there's a gentle flap of fabric and light footsteps on the grass and I can feel a sudden breeze of heat on my back.

And there's that scent.

I turn around and see Jean standing there. Only it wasn't Jean. Something wasn't right and I felt that cold thing in my guts again.

Her eyes were the same fiery red-orange they were when I left her, but now her pupils were gone. Her eyes were just orbs of glowing power. And that wasn't all. Her body was covered in fire, but she didn't burn. It was like she was producing the flames. The fires swept all around her, scorching the trees and the earth.

"**_Let me do it, Logan_**," she ordered in a voice that wasn't her own. Jean's voice was just like Red's, sweeter than honey and pure pleasure to my ears. This voice was still sweet, but had dark, powerful undertones to it. "**_She was my sister. Get out of the way little man. Let me finish him_**." She raised her hands and the fires intensified. They exploded around her and flared outwards like the wings of some cosmic raptor. The fires swelled until the shape of a firebird spread into the sky. It was both terrible and magnificent all at the same time, a power too great to be bridled, and one that had finally been unleashed upon the world. A power of life incarnate, a phoenix to burn away what doesn't work.

All my instincts and that cold thing in my gut told me to take the cuffs off and let Jean, or whatever the hell she had become, turn Toad into French fried Frogs legs, but that would be too good for the bastard. I had other plans and I promised Red that I'd stick to 'em. I stepped forward and stood in between the fires and Toad.

"You wasn't supposed to come down here, Jean," I tell her. "You was supposed to stay with the car."

"**_You can't stop me, you funny little man_**."

"I ain't laughin' darlin'!" I snarled back.

She raised her hand again, this time at me and new fire sprang from it. Tendrils of power sizzled through the air and burned into my flesh, frying my shirt instantly. My skin began to bubble as she burned me.

"ARGHHH!" I roared in pain as she slowly killed me. She let the flames burn away my skin, exposing the muscles and even bones for another moment before letting me go.

I smoldered on the ground for a moment, my healing factor unable to keep up with the immense repair bill. New skin slowly began to replace what Jean had burned off and after a few minutes I was still in bad shape, but well enough to stand again.

"**_Oh, we can do this all night Logan_**," smiled Jean in frightening sweetness. "**_Why don't you just move…_**"

I didn't let her finish. As fast and as hard as my beat up and burnt body could manage, I backhanded Jean across the mouth, knocking her down. Instantly, the flames and the firebird and the cold feeling in my gut vanished and I knew she was just Jean again. But I hit her pretty hard, harder than I should have. She was out cold and from the growing bruise on her cheek, I knew she wasn't going to wake up for a good while.

"Sorry darlin'," I whisper to her. I hated doing that. I was honest when I told her back in Old Town that I don't hurt girls. But I haven't even started with Toad yet, and I couldn't let Jean break my promise, even if she was Red's sister. Besides, I couldn't let her watch the rest; it'll give her nightmares.

I pop the cuffs off my wrist and tie Toad around a tree. Then I pick up Jean's body and carried her all the way back to the car. I laid her down gently in the backseat and brushed a piece of errant hair out of her face. She was just as beautiful as her sister was, even if she just tried to flame broil me. I leaned and kissed her on the cheek. Rest easy Jean. Please don't wake up 'til I'm finished. I let her go and pull the hacksaw and rubber tubing out of the truck and head back towards Toad.

-X-

Maybe a half hour later…

"God, I'll tell you, I am good and bushed. And it wasn't that lil' fight of ours that did me in, either. Nah, it was all that sawing and tying. It's not as easy as it looks. But if I do say so for myself, I think I did a pretty neat job of it. And it's a good thing I brought all that extra tubing. A lot of them broke when I was fixin' the tourniquets," I say to Toad.

Toad didn't say anything, not that he ever does anyway. I was kinda hopin' he would say something though. I was kinda curious. What do you say to a man that just sawed off your arms and legs? Cuz that's what I did, that's what I had been planning ever since I saw that hacksaw back in the hardware store. I waited 'til he woke up from my punch to start. I got impatient so I went onto the farm and got a bucket of cold water to throw on him. That woke him up in a hurry. I started on his legs. They were powerful things, whole lot of muscle to cut through. It took me awhile to tie the tourniquets, damn tubing kept snapping, but I got the hang of it. Then I started sawing. It was hard work, a lot harder than I initially thought it would be, but I took my time and made sure I cut all the way through. When I was done, I tossed the feet and knee over my shoulder and moved on to his other leg and arms. The whole time he never screamed or made any kind of sound at all. He just sat there and smiled that stupid evil smile at me the whole time.

'Kid's psycho,' I thought. But what the hell, he eats people too. Should've expected that.

"Ya know, it would've been a real mess around here if I hadn't had those spare bits of tubing. Still and all, I got to admit there was a spurt or two." I grinned at that.

"Hell, I'm gonna come clean with ya, my slimly lil' friend. I wanted a spurt or two to get the scent in the air. To get that friend of yours to come runnin'."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

I smelled the wolf before I heard the growl and that brought a big smile to my face. "And what do you know. Here he comes now. Let's see what happens if I loosen p one of these here tourniquets." I open one of the knots around Toad's legs and a pool of blood quickly seeps out of the gaping wound. The wolf bounds over to Toad and growls as he approaches. I step back and light a cigar as the wolf sniffs at him then takes a bite.

"That's a good dog," I mutter, taking a long drag off my cigar. "Good dog."

He doesn't scream…not even at the end. Not even when the mutt's had his fill and Toad's guts are lying all over the place. Somehow the bastard is still alive, still staring at me. Not even when I grab the saw and finish the job and take his head off. He never screams.

-X-

I jumped into a nearby stream and got the stench of blood and gore off my skin before putting my coat back on and climbin' into Jean's car.

On the way back into town, I pull over at the diner where I left the padre's Mercedes and use the pay phone to put a call into Kadie's and ask Emma to get her clothes on and meet me back at her place. She says 'Yes," like always. So when I pulled up to her place she met me outside with that gorgeous smile of hers.

"Hey, Emma, you got any beers? I ask her with a grin.

"Sure, Logan. Who's the babe?" she replies happily.

There isn't much of anything Emma wouldn't do for me. Not since a year back when a frat boy roughed her up and I straightened him out but good. I might have gone a bit far, but I was pretty steamed, seein' her cryin' like that. It really pisses me off when guys rough up dames. Hell, I was still beatin' myself up over smackin' Jean back at the farm, even if it did probably save my life.

I lay Jean down on Emma's sofa and plop down next to her. Emma returns for the kitchen with her arms full of beers. She pops open a bottle for me. I inhale it in one gulp. I pop open my second and start filling her in. I like Emma, so I leave some of the nastier details out. Don't want to give her nightmares. By the time I've finished my fifth beer, she's up to speed. While I'm tellin' her about everything, she takes my coat off and starts givin' me a full doctor's examination. She knows I heal quick, but she checks anyway. Some of the burns from Jean are still pretty raw, so she wraps me up in gauze like a mummy.

After she's done patchin' me up, Emma rests my hand on her thigh while I finish my tale. It's soft and warm, but that's none of my business and it wouldn't bug me like it does if I didn't feel so damned alive.

"So, what do you want me to do with her?" she asks me gently.

"She'll come around in a lil' bit," I tell her. You tell her everything's okay, that I took care of him. But tell her she has to haul on out of town. She could get killed if she doesn't."

"I'll take her to the airport myself," Emma says sweetly. Not sweetly in a good way though. I could tell she didn't like Jean very much. I think Emma was being protective of me. She didn't like it when I told her that Jean was the one who torched me.

"No, that's no good," I urp. They might have it watched. Your best bet is to drive her all the way to Sacred Oaks and put her on a plane there." I burp again. "She'll kick up a fuss, but tell her I said she owes me one. It's not true, but she'll believe it."

"What if she goes all firebird on me?" asks Emma, a small but devilish smile on her face.

"Well, you're a tough and intelligent chick, improvise," I tell her. "But she'll be okay." Emma pouted a little bit. Yep, she defiantly didn't like Jean too much. But she'd do it for me and that's all that mattered.

"You gonna be ok?" she asked me.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. So will she," I burped again. "There's no way they'll connect her to me. But anybody connected with Red's is bound to catch hell in a big way. So it'll be better for her if she's gone when they come callin'."

"What about you? Are you leaving town?" Emma asked with genuine concern in her voice. She didn't want to see me leave, but she didn't want me to stick around and get into trouble either.

"Hell no," I tell her and polish off another beer. " I like it here."

She understood exactly what that meant. That I was in this 'til the very end. And that I would catch the hell…

-X-

I finished another couple of beers with Emma and left Jean with her. I walk about twenty blocks west of Emma's place and stepped into a dive of a bar. I made my presence well known there, caused a bit of a fuss. Nothing that would get me in trouble, but enough for people to remember I was there. They'd be following my trail backwards and I don't want it leading back to Emma.

I left the bar and hotwired a parked cab and stayed under the speed limit, so not to get any attention. This'd be a real dumb time to get pulled over. I drive with the windows down and the wind is warm on my face and everything's so simple and clear. I can't help smiling when I pulled into Graymalkin Lane in Salem Center. From the road I can see it.

"The X-Mansion" is what people call it. Looked more like a fortress to me. Surrounded by dozens of dozens of acres of land, all fenced in by a high steel fence. The house itself stood alone upon a hill and the word Mansion didn't do it justice. Heads of governments live in smaller, less grandiose dwellings. Not quite the place you'd find such a "holy man". Saint Charlie charmed the public into understanding that it was a family house, passed on since his great grandfather and it would be a family insult if he didn't live there. So he's been holed up in the lab of luxury for years, surrounded by a legion of armed guards, while Senators and Mayors and even the President come, hats in hand, begging favors from mighty Saint Charlie.

I'd like to blow the whole damned place sky high to wipe it out and leave a crater big enough and deep enough to suck in all the money and lies and evil of all the generations of the Royal Xavier Family.

But that's just the enthusiasm talking. I've got to play this sneaky. Sneaky and very, very nasty.

I parked the car about a mile away from the compound and steel myself.

This is it, Red. Win or lose, it's all over tonight.

* * *

Author's notes:

Well, we're coming towards the end of Logan's tale. I'll be starting "A Big Fat Kill" with Dwight and the girls next. I know alot of you are looking forward to that story and I hope to start getting it posted in the near future.

Calling all reviewers:

Emma Raven Moony Grimm: that's quite the long name you got there. Glad you like the fic, keep on reading.

Simba317: Ladies and Gentlemen, now this is a review! Thank you very much for your detailed review darlin'. If I had known you would write one like that, I would have guilted you into it a long tme ago. I hope you enjoyed this chapter will keep on reading and reviewing.

Kitty Rasputin: I'm glad you caught the "Serenity" reference. I love that movie and the "Firefly" series so I decided to slip alittle something into my fic. Concerning Kitty, I never saw her character to be badass enough to be Miho. Kitty was always too nice and well fluffy to me, despite her ninja training with Logan. I thought she was perfect for the role of Becky, since Becky seemed to be the most naive and innocent of the Old Town girls. I have a very specific girl cast for Miho, and when you see her, and what I do with Becky/Kitty, it'll all make sense.

CatLadyinTraining: That's alot of cats. Dozens of cats is quite the goal to shoot for. I couldn't do it, but I've always been a dog person. Casting Storm as Gail was automatic for me, the role was made for the Weather Goddess. I think it was seeing an old comic picture of Storm with a mohawk from the 80's that sealed the deal. Storm and Gail are two peas in a pod: they are both sexy, fierce, and have a lot of attitude when they want to.

Stefbug:I too am neck deep in finals work and all sorts of school junk. Writing these fics are all that keep me sane. I'm glad I'm keeping you from drowning as well. Repay me bycontinuing to read and review ok? In reference to your question about my sources, I've been using both the film and the graphic novels as references. The film is great for getting the visualsdown, the backgrounds,anddescribing the action. The novels are wonderful for the dialouge, they go into much more detail than the film. I have also been using old X-men comic books, including the new Astonishing X-Men series andPhoenix: Endsong. As far as my tenses go, I'm only human.It's hard to keep track sometimes when you're working at 3 am like I usually do. I'll try to work on that. Thanks.

The Frog Prince of Crime:Well there she is. How do you like my Phoenix? I tried to make her more Dark Phoenix than "good" Phoenix. Let me know how I did.

Coldqueen: Glad you keep enjoying my story. Banshee is planned to make an appereance a little later in "A Big Fat Kill", but I'm not too sure about Captain Britian and Meggan. If I see a spot for them, I'll consider them for a role.

There ya go. To all my readers, thanks and keep on reading and reviewing. The more I get the more I want to write so keep 'em comin'.

Nataku's Wrath


	9. The Hard Goodbye

Logan's Tale pt. VII

"The Hard Goodbye"

* * *

The outside perimeter security was top of the line, high tech stuff. This place had security that rivals most foreign embassies.

Sneaking in was a piece of cake.

I crept along a row of hedges towards the front gate. It was one of those gates you see in the movies: wrought iron with little spikes on the top. A guard patrolled back and forth in front of it.

Guards, hell. These bums are a death squad—from the same bunch that killed Jubilee. So I got no reason at all to be nice about this. I'm about to make my move when the guard starts jabbering into a walkie-talkie.

"Corporal Rivera, checking in. Quiet as a grave out here. No sign of target."

_Copy that_ said the voice from the other end of the radio. _Keep a lookout, Corporal. Stay on your toes. Central out_

While he was talkin' on his radio, I snuck up behind Corporal Rivera. As soon as he signed off the radio and replaced it on his belt, I wrapped my left arm around his neck, cutting off a scream in his throat. He struggled, trying to escape. I punched him hard in the back with my free hand. His body muffled the release of my claws. Three razor sharp points sprang through his back and out his chest. I let go and he slides off my claws onto the ground.

"Stay on your toes, Corporal Rivera," I growl before I climb over the fence. I landed in a large, open lawn. I crouched down in the shadows and took a look around. I spotted the security cameras easily and memorized their rotation times. But they weren't the ones I was worried about. One thing I learned over the years is that it's not the cameras you can see that you should worry about.

I spotted another guard strolling around the first floor rooftops right above the back door, my way in. I tighten the straps on the pack slung across my back and run from the shadows, deftly avoiding the security cameras, and creep up onto the roof. The guard never saw me coming. I snuck up behind him and tapped him nicely on the shoulder.

"What the hell..." he muttered as he spun around. Then he saw me. "Oh no," he whimpered.

"Oh yeah," I grinned and tackled him. We fell onto the roof and I punched him straight through that hard plastic visor thingy. The hit stuns him, giving me time to stand up. I wind up and punt him off the roof. He bounced off a few shingles before going over the edge. I watched him fall and turned away when I heard the sickening crunch of his neck breaking.

This was too easy.

I hop off the roof and pop one of my claws. I use it to dismantle the security trip wires on the back door, the jam it through the lock and deadbolt. The adamantium makes short work of the tumblers and the door opens without a sound. I creep through the mansion, surrounded by one-of-a-kind masterpieces. We're talkin' original Picasso's paintings and sculptures by Michelangelo. I found myself drawn to an ancient and ornate suit of Samurai armor, complete with swords and spear. I stared into its glass case and saw my own face inside the helmet, just like where it would be if I were wearing it myself. Flashes of memories rushed through my mind.

_Peace and Serenity_…

_Training with Master Ogun…_

_Surrounded by an army of Hand Ninjas…_

_Mariko…_

I shook my head and wiped away the memories. I'm getting' confused again and now's not a good time. Can't worry about stuff like that now. I'll figure it out later.

If I have a later…

-X-

A few more guards go down as I make my way though the house. None of them give me much trouble; they all go down without so much as a peep.

I find a long, spiral staircase hidden behind a bookcase and start climbing. The stairs are steep and very old, like the ones you'd find in an old European castle and not a modern mansion.

I climb those stairs for what seems like forever; they just keep going up and up. Finally, I reach a round wooden door made up of planks and iron. This is it.

Finally.

Xavier.

Charles Francis Xavier.

-X-

I slip the contents of my pack out and hold it in front of me as I enter the room.

A beam of light from the stairwell illuminates the room. I can see Xavier lying on a small bed in a cell-like room. The light reflected off his bald head and he looked shorter than I expected. The room is pretty bare, the bed and a small table and chairs set were the only furnishings. The walls were bare stone and there were several leather-bound Bible's scattered around the room, including an open one on the table and one draped across the sleeping Xavier's lap.

Must have been his personal meditation space or somethin'.

The sudden light woke Xavier up. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and he sat up at the waist.

"Huh?" he muttered. "Toad?"

I stepped into the room, brandishing Toad's severed head ahead of me. "Well, what's left of him. The dog at the rest." I walk to the table and plop Toad's green, slimy head onto the open Bible. Xavier's eyes widened. Xavier reached for a silver wheelchair next to the bed and climbed into it. With a flick of a joystick, the mechanical chair rolled forward to the table and Xavier hesitantly reached out and touched Toad's face, like he didn't really think it was there.

But then he touched it and the horrible truth was etched across his face. Looked like he was going to be sick.

"Oh my God…You monster!" he snarled in that same cultured tone I heard back at the farm. "You animal!"

I took out Jena's gun and showed it to him. Good thing I held onto it, its finally gonna come in handy.

"Don't scream or I'll plug ya," I warn and sit down across the table from him. "And at least I don't go around eating people."

"You don't understand him! You don't know anything about him!" Xavier shouted. I cock the gun and he settles down a little bit. "You probably think he couldn't talk, don't you?"

Xavier reached out and picked up Toad's head. He cradled the bloody, slimy head lovingly in his lap and looked down at it.

"You're wrong about that. He had a voice like an angel," he said full of praise. "But he only spoke to me. And now he's dead…" he growled. "…And all because of one stupid whore!"

"Her name was Red," I growl in low tones as I struggle to keep myself from rippin' the jerk's lame legs off and beatin' him with them. "Unless you want to see my bad side, it's not a good idea for you to talk about her like that." I light up a cigar and point the gun at Xavier's forehead. "Just give with the scoop. The whole story," I order.

"Why should I tell you anything?" asks Xavier.

"Because if you don't, I'll start by breakin' your fingers before cuttin' 'em off and you'll talk anyway." I'm famous for my reasoning.

Xavier stared me in the eyes for a moment, his large forehead wrinkling in brief concentration. I briefly felt something in the back of my mind, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. Xavier broke eye contact and looked back down at the head in his lap.

"He was just a boy when he first came to me—and I was just a priest back then," he confessed. "Toad came to give confession…" Xavier paused for a moment to stifle a sob. "…He was a tortured soul…tormented by guilt," he stammered.

"But the eating…it filled him with white light…with love for every living thing. Tearful, he swore to me hat he felt the touch of god almighty!" he exclaimed. "At first, I thought he was insane. I tried to counsel him, to control him. But, as years passed, Toad's voice grew richer, deeper, more certain…until it filled me with pleasure just to hear him speak. In time, I began to envy him. Just listening to his voice was no longer enough. I could no longer stand to the side, not while he touched Heaven."

He looked up and I just stared at him with wide eyes. I knew Saint Charlie here was calling the shots, I never thought he was in with Toad like that.

"Don't look at me that way, you beast. You don't know. You just don't know," he snapped at me.

"I know it's pretty damn weird to eat people, Chuck."

"He didn't just eat their bodies! He ate their souls! He loved them in a way that was absolute and clean and pure and perfect!" he raved.

"And you joined in," I muttered.

Xavier tiled his head back in relish. "Yes…Oh, yes." He smiled at the memory before turning his attention back to the present.

"The women were nothing. Whores. Nobody cared. Nobody missed them. And then that one girl—your Red—almost ruined everything! She must have suspected something, after the first few girls. Perhaps she saw one of them getting into my limousine. She followed us. Toad was engrossed when she found us. He went after her, but she made it to her car and escaped. She stayed in public places. Then with you."

He smiled at me. "You were the perfect fall man. So convenient. Nobody would believe a thug like you. You put a man in a coma that same night in a barroom brawl. Toad killed her. I ordered the police in for you. But you wouldn't be caught. And you wouldn't stop!" he complained. "And now Toad is dead and you're here to kill me."

I nodded.

"Will that give you satisfaction, my son?" he asked, getting' all preachy on me. "Killing a helpless old man?"

I shook my head. "The killin', no. No satisfaction in that. But everything up until the killing, Heh, that'll be a gas." I snuff out my cigar on the table and put the gun away. "You can scream now if you want to.

-X-

It's beautiful, Red. It's perfect. It's just like I promised only better. Blood squirts onto my chin as I slowly tear Xavier apart and I enjoy every minute of it. Toad was damn frustrating to kill, but Xavier's a pure joy.

It's not quick or quiet like it was for you. No, it's loud and nasty, my kind of kill.

I stare the bastard in the face and laugh as he screams to God for mercy and I laugh harder when I pop my claws and he squeals like a stuck pig and when he whimpers like a baby I'm laughing so hard I cry.

He spurts and gurgles blood and life is good. And when his eyes go dead the hell I send him to must seem like heaven after what I've done to him.

I got so worked up in what I was doing that I didn't notice the three guards running up the stairs until they stormed into the room.

"FREEZE!" yelled the first one through the door. I partially turned to see them and exposed what was left of Xavier. The guards saw. "Oh, my GOD…" one of them muttered before getting sick all over the inside of his visor. I lunged at them.

BREKK! BREEK! BREKK!

-X-

Jerks.

Even though they shot me enough times to kill a Sperm Whale a dozen times over, all they managed to do to me is short out my healing factor for a few hours and I passed out.

I woke up in an operating room, seeing doctors and nurses standin' over me, covered in my own blood. It's so stupid. Everybody knows what's coming, but they go through the notions anyway. What a waste of time.

Jerks.

I tried to move, but the massive amounts of drugs they were pumpin' through me left me basically a vegetable. One of the nurses noticed I was awake and they shot me up with somethin' that knocked me back out.

-X-

A few days later I claw my way out of a haze of anesthetics. I'm laying in a bed attached to about a dozen IV's and machines doing who knows what. I immediately have flashbacks to the last time I was in a situation like this. When a group of bastards cut me to the bone and turned me into a freak science experiment with a bad attitude.

Days fall off the calendar while I breathe and eat through tubes and I can't even wash myself or use the damn toilet like a grown man ought to.

Night after night I wait for somebody to come and finish me off. If I'm lucky it might even be Angel. I once heard he made hospital calls. But after awhile I realize its not going to be that easy. I'm a thorn in a lot of people's sides and they're gonna try and make an example of me.

I thought about escaping a couple of times, but they were still pumping that paralyzing drug into me, keeping me docile, controlled. So I just bide my time and wait for them to make their move.

-X-

I'm on my feet for about ten minutes before the cops kick 'em out from under me. They don't ask me any questions, not one. They just keep knocking the crap out of me with axe handles and baseball bats and waving a confession in my face. Even though I'm bloody and bruised, I keep spitting blood all over the pieces of paper and laughing at how many fresh copies the come up with.

Then along comes this wormy assistant district attorney who turns the recorder off and says if I don't sign their confession they'll burn Kadie's to the ground and kill all the girls.

I pop my claws and cut his hand off before I sign the confession.

From then on it's the circus everybody wants it to be. Newspapers, TV coverage, the works. I became the biggest thing since OJ. They nail me with the works. Not just the people who I did kill, the ones who deserved it, but even Jubilee and the girls Toad and Xavier ate.

And even Red.

The judge was all fire and brimstone when she hands down the sentence. Probably shouldn't have called her a bull dyke in desperate need of losing 50 lbs. The crowd ate it up.

And right now they're outside, waiting. I can hear them even from my cell beneath Basin City Prison. Holding a vigil, they call it. They're hollering and pulling six-packs put of their station wagons and wishing they could watch the lynching up close. They'll have to settle for watching the live TV coverage.

-X-

Midnight and my execution are only a few hours away when I get my first surprise in eighteen months. My only visitor.

They got me in a tiny cell with a window so high up I can't even see the outside anymore. The place stinks of sweat and shit and of despair. I'm in solitary about a mile away from the other cons so I can hear her heels click on the cement floor for a long time before she gets here. I'm ready for everything but that scent. She stands just outside my cell, her delicate hands wrapped around the bars.

"I got them for you good, didn't I, Red?" I ask.

The cell door slides open and she steps into my tiny living space. I watch her walk towards me and I lower my eyes and shake my head.

"I'm sorry Jean. I got confused again, seein' like this."

"It's alright, Logan," she says to me before drawing me into a tight hug. "You can call me Red," she whispers into my ear. I pull back and our lips meet in a deep embrace.

She smells like angels out to smell: sweet and warm. I catch a whiff of her perfume, Folavril, and the promise of things to come. Her scent mixes with mine as we come together.

The Perfect Woman.

The Goddess.

Red. She says her name is Red.

-X-

They didn't let her stay for very long, no more than a half hour maybe. But it was enough. Enough to remind me why I was going along with this masquerade, why I was lettin' them do this to me. They stopped givin' me those drugs when I got to the prison, relying on the walls and bars and guards to keep me in line.

I saw about a hundred escape routes and opportunities every day, but I didn't act on them. Maybe it was because of the promise I made to Red to see this through to the end. Maybe I thought I deserved what was comin' for me.

They fixed me a pretty decent steak for my last meal. They even threw in a brew, the first I've had since back at Emma's.

Then they shave my head and fix me with a rubber diaper and get to it.

And it's about damn time, if you ask me.

They strap me down in the electric chair and covered me in electrodes. They place that tin foil skullcap on my head and wire me in. I hear 'em powering up the generators and the smell of ozone and burning wires assaults my nose.

They even had a priest for me. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"

"Could you get a move on? I haven't got all night!" I growl. After Xavier and that German demon with the Mercedes, I had my fill of God and men of the cloth.

The captain of the guards had the honor of presiding over my execution. He turned to one of his lieutenants wearin' black rubber gloves, "You heard the man. Hit it."

"Yes Sir."

CLI-CLUNK!

A couple hundred thousand volts of electricity pass through my body. I buckle and twist beneath my restraints as the current travels through my metal skeleton.

After a few seconds, the guard lowers the switch and kills the current. Everyone presses in, get real close to me, close enough to smell my cooked flesh. My eyes snap open and I cough up a mouthful of blood.

"Heh, Heh. Is that the best you can do, bub?" I laugh.

CLI-CLUNK!

I thrashed in my restraints again as the guard hit the switch a second time. And just before the world went black, I saw her one last time. Back on her heart-shaped bed. The Perfect Woman. The Goddess.

-X-

The captain of the guard nodded to the doctor on hand. He plugged his stethoscope into his ears and checked Logan's heartbeat. After listening for a few seconds, he stood back up and shook his head. "He's gone."

The captain of the guard nodded to the camera crews to shut down the live feed and motioned for the guards to remove the corpse for the coroners. The bloody body was hauled off on a gurney while the media jackals snapped as many pictures as they could for the morning papers.

-X-

Far off in the bowels of the prison, there was a small morgue. There the head medical of the medical staff, Dr. Carol Hines, waited for Logan's corpse. With her was a thin man in his late fifties. He was bald with sharp, cutting features under round, ascetic glasses. His hands were clasped in front of him as he waited impatiently. He kept tapping his long fingers on the Formica counter, something that greatly annoyed Carol Hines.

"Why exactly are you here?" she asked him. "Are you relation, Mr…"

"Professor, my dear," he interrupted. "Just The Professor. And yes, you could say I am related to the recently deceased. You could say I'm his father as sorts."

"As sorts?" inquired the curious Dr. Hines.

"You could say, I made him into the man he is, or should I say was, today."

"So you made him into a murdering animal." Hines' voice was deadpan, completely lacking emotion.

"No, I'm afraid Logan was always an animal," replied The Professor, with a small smile on his cruel mouth. "I just gave him claws. And I'm here to take them back," he said as the guards wheeled in the sheet covered gurney.

"Got a fresh fried one for ya here, Doc," said one of the guards crudely. The other guard thought that to be hysterical, although neither Dr. Hines nor The Professor laughed.

"Your jobs done, you may go," ordered Dr. Hines after the guards heaved Logan's corpse onto the post-mortem table. The guards didn't acknowledge her, they just went back the way they came already thinking about the end of their shifts and their first beer of the night.

Dr. Hines quickly, but efficiently, got to work. She donned a pair of long rubber gloves and studied the body in front of her. The Professor likewise studied Logan's corpse, particularly his face. Logan's face was covered in blood, but The Professor saw no wounds. The man's face still had a full, wild head of hair and still had his mangy sideburns.

"Don't they shave the condemned before execution?" he asked.

Dr. Hines nodded. "Guess they didn't bother with this one." She began to conduct the autopsy, removing a scalpel from a set of tools and started to make an incision along Logan's chest. "So what do you need from me?" she asked The Professor.

POP!

The Professor jumped and reached into his pant's pocket. "What was that?" he shouted and turned away from Dr. Hines and the corpse. His hand slowly crept out of his pocket, containing a small, silver plated pistol.

"It was just one of the lights popping. Happens all the time after an execution." Then she saw the gun. "How did you get that in here? This is a prison, Professor! No weapons of any kind allowed!" She stormed away from the post-mortem table to chastise the older man.

The Professor smiled like a child who had been scolded by a teacher, but didn't care at all. "Forgive me. But it is merely a precaution around him," The Professor answered and pointed the pistol at the corpse on the table.

Only the corpse wasn't there…

The Professor's eyes widened in terror. "WHERE THE HELL DID HE GO?" he screamed in a high-pitched shriek. "WHERE THE HELL DID HE GO?"

Dr. Hines was equally astonished. "I don't know!" she shouted back. She ran to the post-mortem table, but it was empty. The only thing on the table was a bloodstained sheet and a scalpel embedded in the table.

More lights began to pop and soon the small morgue was immersed in near darkness, only one bank of fluorescent lights remained. Dr. Hines rushed to a phone attached to the morgue wall.

"Control, this is the morgue! Come in Control!" she shouted into the receiver.

_This is Control. Go ahead Dr. Hines._

"We've had lighting problems from the execution. Send someone from maintenance down. Make sure he's armed."

_Doctor?_

"Just do it Control!" ordered Dr. Hines and she slammed the receiver back in its cradle. She turned back to The Professor. He was searching the room carefully, checking every nook and cranny for the missing corpse. He threw the sheet across the room and checked under the post-mortem table. He even opened cupboards and cabinets, as if Logan's corpse had hidden itself away inside one of them. Dr. Hines stepped over to the older man and laid a hand on his shoulder. The Professor spun around, aiming the gun at her forehead. Dr. Hines gasped at his actions and at his face. The Professor was white as a ghost and cold sweat glistened on his high forehead. His hands were trembling and the cool, collected manner he had acted in earlier was long gone.

"What did you do with him?" demanded The Professor. Dr. Hines quickly stepped back, but The Professor kept the gun leveled at her.

"Please, Professor. I didn't do anything," she pleaded. "Nothing is wrong here. The lights are always popping after an execution. The body must have fallen off the table."

"It can't do that! It's dead! It can't just get up and move around!" argued The Professor. "Something is very wrong here!"

_Snikt_!

"You got that right, bub"

-X-

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Well folks, that's the end of "The Hard Goodbye." WhenI first wrote out the ending, something didn't feel right to me. Killing off Logan just seemed wrong. Plus, I have a spinoff story with him in mind.

Reviewer Shout-outs!

A Pen and a Piece of Mind:I had to put Phoenix in there, she's was always one of my favorites too. I liked Dark Phoenix most, that's why I made Jean a little more evil in the story. Stick around for the next story.

The Frog Prince of Crime: Glad you liked Phoenix. The sound effects were something I wrestled with right from the begining. At first, I wasn't going to use them, but I decided they would give the story more of a comic book feel. Glad you like them.

Mazdamiatta: Reviewing with a broken arm...now that is dedication! Hope you like this chapter and I'm glad you're looking forward to a little Remy and hooker action. Keep on reviewing and I hope your arm gets better soon.

PoisonRogue:Glad you liked my way of combining the X-Men and Sin City universes. Keep on reading and reviewing.

Stefbug: Sadly, not even writing is keeping me sane anymore, not with finals looming over my head. Logan's healing factor was one of the hardest things to get around in the ending. I hadto execute him, but most wouldn't work. Can't hang him, shoot him, he'd fight off a lethal injection. Hell, not even a guilotine would work. Let me know what you think about the way I did it.

BenjiB: So I've made the literary equivalent of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, huh? Cool. Very cool. Keep on reading and reviewing.

Coldqueen: Thanks for your ongoing support. Glad you're happy about Banshee. Keep on reading and reviewing, the best is yet to come.

Johnny be Good: Glad you like the story. I had to cast Gambit as Dwight. They're like a custom fit for eachother. Still trying to work out all the dialect and accents for Remy, though. If you, or anyone else out there in reviewer land, have any ideas on how I can do this please le me know.

Emma Raven Moony Grimm: I'm glad you like the fic. Keep on reading and I'll keep on writing.

'Till next time,

Nataku's Wrath


	10. Rogue

SIN CITY

"The Big Fat Kill"

"Rogue"

* * *

Thump! Thump! Thump!

A girl stirs underneath the arm of her lover, woken up by the sound of someone pounding on her apartment door. She ignores the pounding and rolled over, returning to the warm embrace of her still sleeping boyfriend. Sleep returns quickly in his strong arms.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The pounding comes again, harder this time. The girl's green eyes snap open in annoyance. Cursing, she sits up on the edge of the bed, her boyfriend's arm flopping back to the bed, and lets the bed sheet slide off her naked form as she stands. Streetlight pokes through the blinds of her bedroom, illuminating her athletic and curvy body, still glistening with sweat from hours of lovemaking. She runs a hand through her long, bushy hair, fingering her white skunk stripe.

She walks away from the bed, her walking slightly bowlegged after the night's activities. Her body ached (in some places more than others), but it was a good ache, a happy ache. A soft light blinked from a tiny anklet dangling from her left ankle. This tiny anklet kept her safe. She bought it a long time ago, back when her abilities became too much for her to handle. It was illegal to own one: she was looking at some serious fines and maybe some jail time if a cop ever caught her with it. She didn't care; it was still better than sucking the life out of everyone she touched. She tried the whole no-touching thing for a while. She wore gloves everywhere and clothes that covered her whole body. It really sucked, especially when you have to wear long sleeves and gloves in the middle of the desert. And nobody likes to flirt with a waitress bundled up like there's a blizzard outside and shrinks away from even the most innocent touch.

So when a girlfriend at Kadie's told her about a friend who had come across a crate of Genosha mutant collars, she jumped at the chance to get one or two. The collars negated mutant abilities, making their wearers just like everybody else. She took it to a friend, a local named Forge, to tinker with. He made it smaller, took it from being the thick obvious collar into a slim, unnoticeable anklet. She wore it almost all the time now: to work, around town, when she went out with her boyfriend.

**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**

The knocking came again, much louder and more frantic. The girl was quickly losing patience with whoever was pounding on her front door. Slipping into a pair of black panties she carelessly threw on the floor earlier and sliding her boyfriend's dress shirt over her bare breasts, she stormed towards the door. Flicking the kitchen light on, she locked the door chain so she could partially open the door, threw back the deadbolt, and cracked the door. Her eyes widened as she saw who was at the door and she slammed the door back into its frame.

"Come on Rogue. Open the door baby," a gravelly voice sputtered from the other side.

**THUMP! THUMP!**

"Forget it man!" Rogue shouted back. "Ya can bang on that door all night if ya want to. There's no way in Hell Ah'm lettin' ya in!" Her Southern Belle accent became even more apparent when she was angry.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me, Rogue. Everything we've shared—it has to mean something to you," the voice said.

"Oh yeah. It meant plenty," Rogue snapped back sarcastically. "Plenty of nights holding an ice pack ta my face where ya punched it. Plenty of lost pay on account of how nobody wants ta flirt with a waitress when her face is all swelled up and purple from bruises."

"And if they don't wanna flirt, they don't order their drinks off ya," Rogue continued ranting. "And if they don't order drinks, they don't give tips. And a waitress can't make her rent without tips. Not when all she's getting is minimum wage, she can't. Ah almost lost this here apartment, on account of what we 'shared'. And anyways, getting punched out ain't close to being what Ah'd call my idea of a good time. If you can't understand that, maybe ya'll oughtta take that as a plain-as-your-face hint that ya got a few screws loose."

"I know you're angry, baby, and I forgive that, without you even asking me to," the voice said slowly through the cracked door. "I know you think all those things you're saying are true. That's why we have to sit down and talk things through. For your sake, baby. No matter what you've imagined about me. Please, baby—isn't there just a little room in your mind for doubt? A little room in your heart… for love?"

"Gawd, Ah'm getting a headache just listening to you! It's not me who's havin' the trouble with reality—and this sure as hell ain't no lovers' spat we're having, here," growled Rogue. "There's a big difference between getting honked off at a guy who's generally not so bad—between that, and finding out ya been sweet-talked into bed by a total jerk loser who skips out on a wife he doesn't even tell ya about every time he gets drunk, which is way too often. Especially when he's the kind of total jerk loser who's gotta beat a girl to make himself feel like a man."

"That hurt, Rogue. That was cruel. It's one thing for you to play hard to get. I can forgive that. But don't go trying to cut my nuts off. I mean it, baby," sneered the voice behind the door.

"Ah ain't playin' hard to get. Ah'm impossible to get—for you!" yelled Rogue through the door. "Do yourself a favor, Jackie-Boy, and get help. Like a shrink or a dog or something. Get help and get lost."

-X-

It wasn't the knocking that woke me up, but the sound of Rogue's raised voice. She was upset, a little frightened. I quickly threw the covers off and slipped on my leather pants and sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces or buckle the pants. I stood behind Rogue for a minute, trying not to think about how sexy she looked in just one of my shirts and a pair of panties, and listened to her spit insults back and forth with some joker named Jackie-Boy on the other side of the door.

"Go ahead 'nd open de door, Chere," I said. "Remy will take care of dis."

Rogue spun around, surprised to see me standing in the hallway behind her. I stood there calmly, naked from the waist up. My red eyes glowed in the low light as I buckled up my leather pants.

Outside, Jackie-Boy wouldn't shut up.

"There's only so much abuse a man can take, baby. Just open the door," he said. "We'll talk. You'll see how wrong you've been about me…"

"Oblige him, Chere. Remy's ready for him." I pull on my fingerless gloves, the leather so worn they fit like a second skin. Rogue turns away from the door and places her hand on my bare chest.

"No, Remy. Jesus, no. You stay out of it!" she whispered. Her hushed voice still somehow managed to sound frightened. "If he knew you were here with me—you don't know how bad this could get. Now don't argue with me! This is my apartment and Ah'm telling you to stay out of this. Ah mean it, Remy!"

"It's your apartment," I conceded. " But be careful, Chere. Dis clown's got a big, mean drunk on—'nd he's got four friends out there in da hall, breathin' hard 'nd just as drunk as he is."

"HEY—I could swear I heard somebody in there with you, just now," called Jackie-Boy from the hall. "You got somebody with you, baby? You be honest with me. You owe me that much."

Rogue laughed, a sweet steel-magnolia sound. "Somebody? Jackie-Boy, it's a regular mutant love fest in here. I got all five starters and half the bench of the Basin City Blues keepin' me company. Ya feel like takin' them on?" she taunted.

She never saw me slip silently into the shadows.

-X-

"You're teasing me, baby," growled Jackie-Boy. "I'm no racist—I mean, some of my best friends…but you're really pushing my buttons, talking like that. Here I've been taking it while you been breaking every rule of civility there is."

"And the whole time you been doing me like this, I been too polite to point out that any time I up and decide I want to I can blast this damn door to splinters—and there's nothing anybody's gonna do to stop me," he threatened. Rogue could hear Jackie-Boy's four buddies snickering and laughing at Jackie Boy's threats.

"You know what I am, baby. You know what I can do," snarled Jackie-Boy drunkenly as he pushed his weight against the door. The door shuddered in its frame and the wood groaned in protest.

"All right. All right," Rogue said frightened. "Ah'll let you in. Just a second." She hurried to open the door. She closed the door and pulled back the chain. Rogue opened the door and Jackie-Boy stumbled in, followed closely by his four "friends."

"Troops, make yourself at home," Jackie-Boy muttered to his cronies. They immediately dove into Rogue's refrigerator, hunting for beers.

Jackie-Boy. His real name was Jackson something, but everybody just called him Jackie-Boy. His long, stringy black hair hung down in his face, almost covering the "M" tattoo over his right eye. Rogue never asked where he got it or what it meant. Jackie-Boy reeked of liquor and he had a bottle of rum in his hand, booze dripping off his shabby goatee.

"Ya brought your whole pack with you? Don't any of these bozos have lives, they gotta out with you?" muttered Rogue.

Jackie-Boy gave her adrunk smile. "You're gonna love this, baby. It's a great idea. I got it on the way over here and the guys went nuts for it," muttered Jackie-Boy in his raspy voice. "You're gonna call up some of your friends who work the saloon with you and the bunch of us are going to hit every joint in town. It'll be great."

Rogue folded her arms across her chest and stuck her nose in the air. "Ah'm not callin' up nobody. Ah wouldn't wish ya'll and your jerk friends on my worst enemy."

Jackie-Boy narrowed his dark eyes at her; his brown eyes glowed faintly red in growing anger. "That's a man's shirt you're wearing—and it sure as hell isn't one of mine," he growled. "What the hell is going on here?" He lashed out and grabbed Rogue by the throat. She whimpered and her eyes grew wide in fear. Jackie-Boy tightened his grip on her throat and pulled her closer to him. Rogue gagged on the noxious stench of booze pouring of his skin and breath.

"Don't go lying to me about it, you slut!" he shouts. "You got somebody's love stink all over you! I can smell it! You've been with another man and you've been with him tonight!" He squeezed Rogue's throat tighter. "And you're flaunting it! Just to torture me! You invited me and my buddies in here just to rub my nose in it! Just to humiliate me! Well, I'm not sitting and taking this, slut! Who is he? Where is he?" Jackie-Boy demanded.

"He's Superman," choked Rogue. "He flew out the window just as soon as he heard you were coming, 'cause ya'll scare him so bad."

"You think this is funny? You think I've got no feelings at all? Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Jackie-Boy pushed Rogue up against her kitchen counter roughly. "Where is he?"

Little did Jackie-Boy know that I was standing just outside in the hall, pulling on my worn, brown leather duster. I fingered one of the worn playing cards I keep always keep in my pockets, watching the scene before him.

""If you're gonna slug me, go ahead 'nd get it over with, you sick bastard," growled Rogue. Her green eyes glared up at Jackie-Boy, almost daring him.

"There you go, lying about me again! Right in front of my buddies. I have never hit a woman in my life. Never!"

KRAK!

His right fist came out of nowhere. It crashed into Rogue's jaw, knocking her over. She bounced off the kitchen counter, knocking a wood block full of kitchen knives onto the floor. She fell onto the floor, landing in a sprawl. The front of her shirt fluttered open for a brief moment, giving Jackie-Boy and his buddies a quick peek of her bare breasts.

"Ya God damn bastard! Ya God damn coward!" she growled from the floor, drawing her borrowed shirt back together and wiping a thin trail of blood from her lip.

I saw him hit her. My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. I wanted to rush into the kitchen and paint the walls red with Jackie-Boy and his buddies' blood. But Rogue told me to stay out of it. And she would be even worse to deal with later if I walked in and interfered now. So I turned away from the kitchen and walked into the bathroom, my worn sneakers not making any noise…

"There's no reason to be hostile, baby," sneered Jackie-boy, acting as if nothing had happened. "Get in the swing of things. You, me, the guys—we're all here to have a good time. Right?" He stepped over Rogue, unceremoniously grabbing his balls as he did. "I'll be right back. I gotta take a leak."

"Ah wish you'd dropped by earlier, Jackie-Boy. Then ya coulda met my new boyfriend. Ya coulda seen what a real man looks like," sneered Rogue, taunting Jackie-Boy.

"There you go, after my nuts again. I go to all the trouble of planning us a fun evening and go after my nuts." He smiles. "But I forgive you. I'm a generous guy." He turns and walks towards her bathroom. "Not that I expect you to appreciate it. Not for a second."

-X-

Rogue sat on the floor, spitting up flecks of blood onto her white kitchen tiles. She fought back tears as one of Jackie-Boy's friends knelt down besides her. He was tall and skinny, with a lame Flock of Seagulls haircut that went out of style (if it had ever actually been in style) decades ago.

"He is generous," Flock of Seagulls said gently. "Never a thought for himself. None of us guys have to pay for our drinks when Big Jack's around. Big Jack's always buying. The man's a saint. But that temper of his—you never shoulda picked on him like you did."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "But that's Big Jack. You gotta love him. My temper you don't have to worry about. I'm a gentle kind of guy, a romantic. And you're the most beautiful creature I ever seen," he said lustfully.

Rogue's eyes flashed in rage as she quickly grabbed a butcher's knife off the floor. She brandished the blade in front of her, it's sharp tip pointing right between Flock of Seagull's legs.

"Shut up and keep your hands to yourself or Ah'll cut your little pecker off," she threatened. Flock of Seagulls backed away slowly. Rogue inched to her feet and took a step towards Flock of Seagulls, looking ready to stab him.

Cli-Click… 

The sound of a gun cocking freezes Rogue in her tracks. Another one of Jackie Boy's friends held a large pistol in his hand, aimed for the back of Rogue's head.

"Now you really don't want to do that," he sneered. "You should be getting dressed. You don't wanna hit the streets dressed like that, honey. It's a jungle out there. Besides, you got a couple phone calls you oughtta be making."

-X-

Jackie-Boy heard the commotion from the bathroom. He laughed when he heard the gun cock and laughed harder when his friend told Rogue to start making phone calls.

"Yeah! That's right!" Jackie-Boy shouted from the bathroom. "You were gonna call your friends from the saloon! Tell 'em to hurry! The night's not getting any younger!" he called. "And make sure you call that dancer—the one with the lasso—what's her name? Emma, right?"

Jackie-Boy was concentrating so much on getting Rogue to call the saloon girls (and making sure he didn't piss on his leg) to notice my tall shadow behind the shower curtain.

"Yeah, make sure you call Emma! And tell her to bring her lasso!" he laughed. When he heard silence from the other room, Jackie-Boy finished his business and turned his head back towards the kitchen.

Unbeknownst to Jackie-Boy, I pulled back the shower curtain. My glowing red eyes stared back at me in the mirror and I stepped silently out of the bathtub, a gleaming razor faintly glowing pink in my hand.

"Hey!" he shouted towards the kitchen. "I don't hear you making those calls, Rogue… don't do me like this, baby. This isn't funny anymore, Rogue…" Jackie-Boy shook and zipped himself up. "Answer me, damn it! I don't need this grief!"

I snuck up behind Jackie-Boy and grabbed the back of his hair. The razor cackled with pink energy a quarter of an inch away from Jackie-Boy's right eye. Jackie-Boy froze. He didn't move, he didn't breathe. His right eye focused solely on the tip of that glowing razor.

"Hi. I'm Rogue's new boyfriend and I'm out of my mind," I said coldly into Jackie-Boy's ear. "You ever so much as talk to Chere again—you even think her name—'nd Gambit'll cut you in ways dat'll make you useless to a woman."

"You're making a big mistake, pal," muttered Jackie-Boy, trying hard not to move. "A big mistake."

"Yeah? Well you made a big mistake yourself, mon ami. You didn't flush." I removed the razor and pushed Jackie-Boy's head down as hard as he could, shoving the man's head into the toilet bowl.

Jackie-Boy's eyes bulged in their sockets as he gargled toilet water and his own urine. He struggled to escape, but I held his head down with all my strength. I was still pissed that this chicken shit had struck my Rogue, my Chere. For all I could care, this guy was lower than scum; he deserved drowning in a pool of his own piss.

Desperate, Jackie-Boy searched for the silver latch to flush all the water away. I smacked his hand away and pushed Jackie-Boy's head down even harder. I held him down as Jackie-Boy's struggles became more and more frantic and desperate, until the attempts began to weaken and stop all together. My demon red eyes glowed mercilessly when Jackie-Boy stopped moving. Only then did I let go and slip silently out the window.

-X-

Jackie-Boy's head flew out of the toilet, his stringy hair soaked. He spun around, waving his gun in pure hatred.

"Son of a bitch—I'll blow you in half!" he roared as he searched for his attacker. The rising bile in his throat interrupted his rage. Gagging, he buried his face back in the toilet, throwing up yellow urine and bile.

He backed out of the bathroom cautiously. Rogue saw him enter the hallway. She stared at him in bewilderment, as did his troops.

Before any of them could say a word, Jackie-Boy was already heading for the door. "Troops! Get outta here. No questions, damn it. No questions!" The four guys just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Flock of Seagulls looked like he was about to say something when Jackie-Boy waved his gun at them and shouted: "NOW!"

The troops filed out of Rogue's apartment without a word. Jackie-Boy followed them out, glaring daggers at Rogue as he left. She wrinkled her nose as he past; the booze smell now mixed with something remarkably similar to the ammonia stench of urine assaulted her nostrils.

Rogue drops her knife and runs down the hallway to the bathroom window. She watches as Jackie-Boy and his goons file out of her building and into Jackie's blue Chevy, firing their pistols off into the air like a bunch of Mexican bandits from the old west. After a few shots, they pile into the car and speed away, leaving two trails of rubber on the street. Rogue watched them leave and saw a pair of red sneakers on the ledge beside her.

I was standing casually on her window ledge, watching Jackie-Boy drive away in a wet, stinky rage.

"Remy—what the devil did ya do ta him?" she asked.

"Oh, Remy just gave him a taste of his own medicine. He won't be botherin' you again. His kind, dey scare easy. It's wherever he's goin' next dat worries me." I looked down at her with a concerned smile on my face. "How's your jaw?"

"Ah been slapped around worst," Rogue smiled back. "Remy—Ah want ya to know he was from awhile back. Before ya showed up again, with that new face of yours. It was only 'cause Ah felt sorry for him. And it was only once," she confessed. "Ah've done some dumb things."

"Seein' as how Remy's one of those dumb things, can't give you too 'ard a time 'bout that, Chere," I grinned lopsidedly before turning serious again. "But dis guy—he's a menace. He might kill somebody if Remy don't stop him. Call you later," I sayand calmly step off the ledge.

"No! Don't go!" Rogue shouts as I fall the five stories back to the ground.

She shouts something I can't quite make out over the racket of a passing police copter. It sounds like "Stop!" but I can't be sure.

-X-

Rogue watches as Remy lands like a cat on the sidewalk in front of her building. He runs across the street, cutting in front of a passing taxi. He jumps into his bright red Cadillac and speeds off, never even looking back up at her.

"Damn it, Remy, damn it," she whispers as she comes back inside and closes her window. "You fool. You damn fool."

-X-

* * *

Well, here it is! The beginning of the story so many of you have been waiting for. "The Big Fat Kill". Remy and the Girls. I have to admit, I've been looking forward to writing this story too. But thisstory has been a pain in the ass and I can blame it all on one thing…

Jackie-Boy.

Jackie-Boy was by far the hardest character to cast. He is so unique. He's both good and bad, powerful yet vulnerable. He's got to be strong enough to frighten Rogue, but weak enough for Remy to give him a swirlie. This is why I asked all my readers and reviewers to submit any ideas they had for casting him. There were some good ones too: Magneto, Joseph, Sabretooth, Black Tom Cassidy, Sean Cassidy, Cody Robbins, Sunfire, Avalanche, Thunderbird, Forge, Chamber, Colossus, etc. All of them were great ideas, but they all had a tragic flaw to them. As far as Magneto, Sabretooth, Black Tom and Sean Cassidy, Avalanche, and Colossus…they already have or had parts picked out for them. Cody Robbins was human and as interesting as that might have been, just didn't feel right to me. You don't write an X-Man fic using a human as one of the main characters. Sunfire was too static and I didn't know enough about Thunderbird to use him well (I still don't know what his powers are/were. Isn't he dead?). Forge wasn't mean and scary enough to ever frighten Rogue and Chamber didn't have a mouth or chest and I didn't want to have to bother explaining that.

It came down to three choices for me: Sebastian Shaw, Juggernaut, or Lucas Bishop.

Shaw was both evil and strong enough, but seemed too uptight and "high society" to pull off Jackie-Boy's sleaze.

Juggernaut is too powerful. There's no way Remy could give him a swirlie without getting thrown a couple city blocks.

Bishop worked. He's strong enough to scare, weak enough to swirlie, and the older long haired version even looks like Jackie-Boy a little bit. There is another big reason I chose him, but can't say yet. Don't want to give away any spoilers to the next chapter.

I know I probably ruined a bunch of hopes out there, but tell me what you think about him and my choice.

-Nataku's Wrath-

Reviewer Shout-Outs!

A Pen and a Piece of Mind: I was looking forward to seeing X3 and I did go and see it. I was a little disappointed. The biggest thing that bugged me was when Jean went all Dark Phoenix, where was the Firebird? How in the ruddy-poo, blue blazes of Marvel hell, do you have the Phoenix looking like something out of Resident Evil without the badass Firebird? It just wasn't right to me. What do you think?

Stefbug: I'm glad you liked the ending of "Hard Goodbye". Logan has always been my favorite character and I just couldn't kill him off permently. I hope you like the next story. I tried to take it easy with Remy's accent, but it's hard to do. I spent a lot of time trying to figure it all out. Let me know how I did, darlin'.

Emma Raven Moony Grimm: Well ask and you shall receive. You want good chapters and I'm gonna keep on giving them to you. Enjoy and keep on reading and reviewing. And I'm starting to draw out spin-off ideas with Logan. Let me know if you, or anyone else out there in reviewer land, have any ideas.

Jonny Be Good: As a former New Orleans resident, I want you to take a good look at my Remy. Make sure I did him justice and all. As far as what stories I'm doing, right now I'm leaning towards all 7. Once I really got into writing "Hard Goodbye" I went out and bought a bunch of the books and have been using them alongside the film. For now I'm going to do the ones in the film first, then start the others. But that might change. I really liked "A Dame to Kill For." Might do that one next, or maybe separately from the others. Keep an eye out.

Coldqueen: Ah, the everlasting love of a queen…well, you know how to make a boy feel special darlin'. You just keep on reading and I'll keep on writing. And to answer your question, I've been using both. The books go into more dialogue and thought than the movie does, but the film is great for describing the action scenes. Thanks, your majesty.

The Frog Prince of Crime: Glad you liked my ending. Carol Hines was one of the top technicians in the Weapon X program. She was the one who basically (and if I'm getting this wrong somebody please correct me) brainwashed Logan and stripped away his memories.

PoisonRogue: I hope you like the first chapter of Remy's story and a bit of ROMYness. I'm glad you're enjoying my fic, keep on reading and reviewing for me.

Retrimesuroth: Thanks for your support. I'm curious about your pen name there. Still trying to pronounce it. Jackie-Boy was the hardest character for me to cast. Check out my little rant above for more about it. Keep on reading and reviewing; let me know how I'm doing.

CatLadyinTraining: Glad you liked my ending to "Hard Goodbye". Hope you like "The Big Fat Kill" even more. Banshee will make his grand (and rather loud) appearance in this story, but not for a couple chapters.

Tallia: I'm very happy you like my work so much. Hearing that is the most satisfying thing a writer can experience and it's the reason I do this. Thanks. As for Deadly Little Miho, Betsy was my first, original, and only choice for that role. She'll be making her entrance in the next chapter so stick around and check it out.


	11. Old Town

"The Big Fat Kill"

"Old Town"

* * *

I hop into my Caddy and kick it into gear and cut across the park to pick up Jackie-Boy heading like a bat out of hell up the hill. The condition he's in, he wouldn't notice if I was sitting right there in his back seat with his buddies. So there's no need to play it cute. I snuggle up right behind him, keeping pace at a way-too-fast eighty-five and leaving myself open for all the trouble in the world.

Speeding. It's a good way to get yourself noticed. And when you're a murderer with a new face who's one fingerprint check away from the fast track to the gas chamber like I am, the last thing you want is to get noticed.

It's a chance I shouldn't be taking, but I can't just go home and forget about it and let Jackie-Boy and his pals find their fun. They're a pack of predators and they're out for blood tonight. A woman's blood.

They won't get it. I'm in no hurry to kill anybody ever again, but I'll kill them if I have to.

Then I hear a banshee cry, coming up fast. I check my rearview mirror and see a cop car, speeding up right behind me, lights blazing.

I don't have nearly enough cash on me to bribe this cop…and even if I did, there's always the outside chance he's one of the few honest ones.

What if my fake I.D. doesn't fool him?

Do I try to talk my way out of this? Or do I take his cop down and risk it all?

Then Jackie-Boy saves me a great, big steaming pile of trouble.

Jackie-Boy was driving drunk, his head hanging out the window like a dog: his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The car begins to slowly drift across the median and into the other lane. A pair of oncoming headlights fills the Chevy's windshield.

"Watch it Jack!" Flock of Seagulls yells from the backseat. Jackie-Boy snaps out of it just in time to swerve out of the way and avoid the head-on collision.

And just like that the cop's on him!

The knot in my gut starts to untangle itself—then I realize where we're headed and my gut tightens up worse than before.

Jackie-Boy's leading us straight to Old Town.

Damn it!

Just seconds ago everything was perfect. The cop was going to pull them over and nail them for drunk driving. He was going to find at least two pistols on them, for which it's a safe bet they don't have permits for. Maybe they'd even resist arrest, just to make my joy complete. They'd be sitting in the slammer for a few months with a new boyfriend named Bubba, off the streets, and no danger to anybody.

But no, the bum, the sleaze ball, the slob has to make a run into Old Town and make a mess out of everything.

-X-

Jackie-Boy flies into the dimly lit streets of Old Town, the Chevy's headlights lighting up all the merchandise. The cop flies in right behind Jackie-Boy before he even realizes what he's doing.

Then he sees the girls. They all stopped at the sight of the cop's lights and watched him skid to a stop. Calm and collected, each scantly clad girl reaches into a purse or under a skirt or bra and pulls out a gun. A few girls that don't need guns; they glow in vibrant colors as their own abilities power up.

The cop shuts up his siren, not sure how to play it. He knows he's not the law. Not in Old Town.

The ladies are the law here, beautiful and merciless. If you've got the cash and play by the rules, they'll make all your dreams come true. But if you cross them, you're a corpse.

"Officer, please make both our lives better and turn de 'ell around 'nd get de 'ell out of here. Leave Jackie-Boy to Remy," I mutter as I approach. "You know how de girls are. De last thing Ol' Town needs is a dead cop."

The cop is still sitting there, still trying to make up his mind. The girls decide for him.

The alleys echo with the sound of a couple dozen guns cock and light up as girls conjure balls of fire and energy.

The cop takes the hint and throws his cruiser in reverse. The tires squeal as he peels out of the alley, flying right past me.

The girls put away their pieces and turn off their powers and go back to business, as if nothing ever happened. They hardly give me a glance as I drive after Jackie-Boy.

-X-

Jackie-Boy and his buddies were celebrating their escape from the long arm of the law, cheerfully cracking open fresh beers.

"That squad car is long gone!" said the buddy in the front seat: a young punk named Davis, but everyone called him Slipstream.

"Did I call it? Was I right?" Jackie-Boy boasts as he downed half his beer in one shot.

"You're always right, Jack. None of us ever doubted you for a second," replied Flock of Seagulls. "But…but I heard things about these girls. Things they done to guy who got out of line."

"Who's out of line?" growled Jackie-Boy. "Shut up Fitzroy."

"I heard that a guy got stabbed to death cuz he didn't give the girl a tip," said Fitzroy, trying to back up his claim.

Jackie-Boy ignored him and turned his concentration back to driving.

-X-

I follow Jackie-Boy's Chevy deeper into Old Town. I leave my car behind and make my way through the shadows, shuffling a handful of cars in my hands.

They weave their way down side streets, keeping away from the lights and crowds of girls trying to make a sale, looking for a woman who's alone and defenseless.

Looking for prey.

They find just what they're looking for.

-X-

Kitty's a young girl, probably not even 20 yet, wearing skintight leather pants and jacket. Her ears are heavily pierced, just like all the other girls in Old Town. She has dozen's of crosses hanging from her ears and from around her neck. She's walking down the side alley, alone and vulnerable. The perfect target.

Jackie-Boy pulls up right beside her, his car keeping pace with her slow stroll.

"Hop in sugar. We'll get you there. Big time, we'll get you there," he offers her. He sounds more like the Big Bad Wolf trying to eat up Little Red Riding Hood than a man. What a sleaze.

She takes it all in stride like a true professional.

"Aw, sweetheart," Kitty purrs, her voice filled with false innocence. "Like, I work the day shift—and it's been a _long_ day. I'm plain tuckered out. Besides, us girls got preferences—and, like, I don't do group jobs."

"Get in the car, baby. We'll talk. We'll just talk. It'll be nice," Jackie-Boy promises. "My money's good."

"Sorry cowboy," she says with more innocence. She's really laying it on thick now. "I don't do talk jobs, either."

"Baby doll, I've had me one hell of a bad day. I been beat up every time I turn around. But the day I get turned down by a goddamn hooker when I got good, hard-earned cash to pay her with—well, there's only so much a man can take!" Jackie-Boy's temper is starting to get the best of him.

"Settle down, darlin'. It ain't the end of the world, now is it? Go try the Alamo, over on Dillon Street. Ask for Tessa. She'll set the bunch of you up. That's the Alamo, not the Amigo. The Amigo's a fag joint. Unless you boys are into that sort of thing," she teases.

"You're having a good time, doing me like this, aren't you?" growled Jackie-Boy. "Humiliating me. Humiliating me for no damn reason at all!"

-X-

I hear Jackie-Boy raise his voice and I quickly sneak closer, ready to intervene. The cards in my hands begin to glow pink around their edges and I get ready to make my move.

"That's far enough Gambit," a silky smooth voices cuts through the air behind me, followed by a low rumble of thunder. I spin around and come face to face with a Goddess. "We've been on top of these peckerwoods since they first showed up with that cop behind them. Everything's under control. Enjoy the show," she smiles at me.

There's no use arguing with her.

The ladies are the law here. Beautiful and merciless. And they've got their own enforcers.

The Chevy rumbles down an alley that faces no windows. Jackie-Boy's voice rises to an angry, drunken warble.

The poor slob. I almost feel sorry for him. Him and whole rotten pack of losers.

This is going to be ugly.

-X-

The night's gotten just about as hot as it's going to get. There's a wild cackle in the air. The wind's got a crazy edge to it.

Storm's getting excited.

That's what all the girls call her. Most of the girls have names like that, especially the ones with powers.

Storm purrs her panther purr, excited, eager, her movements like liquid mercury, as distracting as a guided tour of paradise.

To say she's beautiful would be the understatement of the century. Her mocha skin glistens under the streetlights; her snow-white hair is cropped shorter than I remembered. It used to hang all the way down her back, now it barely touched her shoulders. Long chains of lightning bolts hang from her ears. She's wearing leather and not much of it. The thin straps and mesh barely hides her modesty and accents each and every one of her gorgeous curves.

Only in this neighborhood would a woman dress like that to avoid getting herself noticed.

Or maybe getting noticed is exactly what she had in mind, when she dug through her wardrobe tonight. That'd be just like her, to strap herself into that outfit just to show it all off and drive me nuts.

God knows its working. All kinds of death is about to hit less than twenty yards ahead of us and still it's hard to take my eyes off her. Hell, it's just plain impossible. And doesn't she know it. Silent laughter ripples through her voice, just like it does through every inch of her…

"So how's the barmaid? You know, the one who never shuts up?" she asks me. I quickly try to collect myself. Not sure if I succeed or not, but the hell with that.

"Not right now, Storm," I say seriously.

"Wound up a little tight, aren't we?" she teases as she pulls out her pack of clove cigarettes. "That was always your problem, Gambit. You worry too much. That, and your lousy taste in women. Well, these days anyway," she smiles at me as she lights up. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke in my face, pursing her lips like a kiss.

I try to ignore the shiver that goes through my body.

"Those clowns down the way—they some of the barmaid's boyfriends?" she asks.

"One of dem thinks he is. He's out of control. Gambit followed dem here to make sure he didn't hurt any of you girls."

"Us girls," she chuckles, "Us helpless little girls." She tosses me an all-business smile that only a dead man could ignore.

But that's what I am. A dead man. And that's how I want to stay. That's how I have to stay.

'_Don't look at her,'_ the smart part of me says. _'Stay calm. Stay cold. Don't play with fire. You know what happens when you play with fire.'_

'_Murderer, never forget!'_ it continues. _'You've got innocent blood on your hands and nothing's ever going to wash it off.'_

After a while my heart slows down. I tune back in. She's still talking. And here she called Rogue a chatterbox.

"…Us girls are safe as we can be, Lancelot. But those boys in that hunk-of-junk Chevy—they're one mistake away from seeing what Psy can do, and she's been aching for some practice. Things have been so quiet since all the trouble with Logan and Red and Cardinal Xavier." She takes throws away her cigarette butt and lights up another one. She always chain-smoked when she was excited like this, just a hair away from going out of control.

"It broke my heart, seeing Psylocke so frustrated. I'd have to be made of stone not to give her something to do," she says, inhaling the cigarette smoke.

-X-

Distant desert thunder. It rolls on forever.

Storm gives me a quick elbow to the ribs and giggles at how I practically jump put of my skin. She guides my glance upward to the pixie perched on the roof's edge.

Deadly little Psylocke. I can see her blue, skintight ninja outfit underneath her ornate kimono from the street. Her long hair is pulled away from her face and trails all the way down to her knees. Long trails of shuriken stars hang from her ears.

I remember what Psylocke can do and I look over at Jackie-Boy's Chevy and a swell of pity flickers through my mind. Those poor slobs. Those stupid, drunken slobs. Less than ten minutes ago I was ready to kill them myself. Now I almost want to run after them and tell them to get their sorry butts the hell out of here before it's too late.

But I wouldn't get ten steps. The ladies are the law, here. It's suicide to cross them. I got lucky once, but that's not going to happen again.

A lightning flash. More thunder. Closer now.

There's a rumbling behind me. I turn to see two new girls pulling a heavy gate across the entrance to the alley.

That sinks it. There's no point in warning them anymore. The girls have sealed the alleys only exit. The trap is set, locked, and ready to spring.

So what? They're scum. They got themselves into this. They deserve what's coming. So why this rotten feeling in my gut that something is awfully, awfully wrong?

"Dey haven't killed anybody Gambit know about," I tell Storm. "It got pretty bad back at Rogue's place, but dey didn't kill anybody."

"And they won't," replied Storm, her voice final.

Those poor slobs.

They don't have a chance.

-X-

Jackie-Boy is too drunk or too stupid to call it a night. He still drives slowly beside the young hooker, still trying to get her into the car with his buddies.

"You're running out of alley, cowboy. Turn around. Head on home. Save yourself and your buddies a whole ton of grief." Kitty offers him a final warning.

"That isn't a threat, is it?" Jackie-Boy sneers. "You're a sassy little thing, but you ain't hardly in any kind of position to be making threats."

Kitty walks a little faster and Jackie-Boy has to speed up a bit to keep pace.

"Okay! Okay. I sounded off a little more than I should have. I'll admit that," he apologizes, sort of. "Nobody's perfect. Not even me, as hard as I try. I hope you understand that none of that was aimed at you, honey doll. I'm just a little on edge."

"You're over the edge. You're plastered, happens to the best of us. It's not a woman you need, it's like a good night's sleep." She smiles and adds a little barb at Jackie-Boy she just couldn't resist. "You couldn't handle a woman, the state you're in."

Jackie-Boy's buddies laugh at her implication and Fitzroy can't help himself from pushing Jackie-Boy's buttons.

"She's saying you ain't got what it takes, Jack!" he whispers from the backseat into Jackie-Boy's ear.

Jackie-Boy grins like a wolf and cocks his head at the girl. "You wanna see it? You wanna see what I got?" he asks her crudely.

"I've seen all shapes, mister. All sizes," she replies with an all-business smile.

"Seen this?" Jackie-Boy snarls and draws his pistol from underneath his coat. "No more teasing! Get in the car!" he roars.

Kitty's eyes go wide at the sight of the gun, but she makes no move to get in the car. Backing away, she shakes her head at Jackie-Boy.

"Ah, buddy. Like, you just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life!"

-X-

Psylocke sees the gun immediately. It was just the excuse she had been waiting for. She pulls out a large throwing star from a pouch hidden in her kimono. She hurls the star as she runs towards the edge of the roof.

The star ricochets off an alley wall and spins through the air with a high whistle. Right at Jackie-Boy's gun.

He never saw it coming.

The razor sharp star slices through Jackie-Boy's wrist and embedded itself in the street. Jackie-Boy screams in shock and pain as his wrist falls to the ground in a gushing fountain of bright red blood, the hand still tightly gripping the gun.

"Oh, Jesus. My hand," he moans. "My hand! Oh, Jesus! My hand!"

His buddies in the car stare in confusion as Jackie-Boy slumps out of the car and on to his knees, crawling on his belly after his own hand.

"What's going on?" yelled Fitzroy. "What the hell is going on?"

None of them hear Psylocke. They didn't hear the _snap-hiss_ as long purple blades erupt from each hand as she jumped from her perch on the rooftop.

A falling leaf would have made more noise.

She lands silently on the top of the Chevy, driving her psychic blades through the roof. The psychic blades slide through the steel easily and into the heads of two of Jackie-Boy's buddies in the back seat. Fitzroy screams as his buddies get torn apart.

"Oh God no…" he mutters as he struggles to get out of the car. He watched one of the blades retract through the roof and stabs through Slipstream's eye in the front seat. His whole face erupts in blood. "Oh God…" Fitzroy was terrified. He wasn't a fighter, that's why he hung out with Big Jack. Big Jack always took care of anybody who crossed their path.

Fitzroy finally managed to get out the car door, his eyes wide in fear, ready to run as fast as his legs could carry him straight out of Old Town.

Psylocke was waiting for him.

Perched on the car roof, she waits for Fitzroy to stick his lame ass Flock of Seagulls haircut head to poke out. When it did, the psychic blade comes down like a guillotine and lops his head off. It flies through the air like a bloody rocket and bounces towards Jackie-Boy.

Jackie-Boy crawled on his hand and knees away from his car towards his lost hand, a trail of bright red blood following him like a trail of slime behind a slug. His eyes snapped up as Fitzroy's head bounced past.

"This is crazy," he muttered to himself. "It's crazy." He grabs his gun with his one good hand and uses his teeth to pry in out of his dead hand. The flesh was cold and slimy in his mouth. "For no reason," he mutters in between his teeth. He finally pries his cold dead fingers off the gun and spits the hand back onto the street. "FOR NO REASON!" he yells as he got back to his feet.

Psylocke hops off the Chevy's roof and stalks towards Jackie-Boy, her narrow eyes passing over Jackie-Boy's body, deciding where to stick her blades next.

"Stay where you are, you witch!" Jackie Boy yells at her. "You scrawny little whore!"

Psylocke doesn't even blink. She just circled him, like a predator just waiting for the opportunity to kill.

"You think you can stop a bullet? You're going to. You'll stop as many bullets as I want to put in you!" he roars. "You're gonna beg me to stop!"

Unfazed, Psylocke begins to bob and weave in place, an eerie dance of death. She was just waiting for Jackie-Boy to slip up. Jackie-Boy is just too drunk and hurt to realize it.

"Fine! Go ahead! Dance around all you want to! I got you right where I want you and you know it, baby!" he grins. "It's gonna hurt baby! You're gonna beg!"

-X-

I watch the whole thing. This wasn't the first time I've seen Psylocke in action, but it's still amazing to watch her. But now Jackie-Boy, despite his wound, had the upper hand. And there was no way I'm going to let him kill anyone.

"He's got de drop on her!" I say as the handful of playing cards in my hand charge up. They cackle with bright pink energy.

"Would you please settle down?" mutters Storm impatiently. "He's got squat. He's dead. He's just too dumb to know it."

I run towards them anyway.

"Don't be dumb, Gambit. Don't get in her way," she calls after me.

Maybe Storm's right. Maybe Jackie-Boy's too dumb. Maybe he's too crazy. Maybe he's too tough or too ornery or too drunk to have enough common sense to fall down and stay down and go deep into shock and have a heart attack and die quick like he ought to.

One thing's for sure. Having his hand chopped off and losing enough blood to paint a house isn't what it takes to make this particular jerk/idiot/psycho/woman-hating bastard finally shut up...

"You got on idea what kind of mistake you and your sassy slut friend made, maiming me like this!" he shouted. "This is a career-ending wound you've given me, bitch! There's gonna be hell to pay!"

Psylocke doesn't say a word, she just keeps bobbing and weaving, staying one step away from Jackie-Boy's aim, each step bringing her closer and closer to him.

I sneak up behind Jackie-Boy, my cards charged and ready to throw. And the stupid, son of a bitch is still running his mouth.

"It was a trap, wasn't it? Come on! Admit it! It was a goddamn trap and there was no reason for it!" he shouts. "No reason at all!"

Psylocke looks bored, and I know it's going to be over soon. She locks eyes with me for a tenth of a second that tells me loud and clear I'd better not interrupt her practice. She doesn't have to tell me twice.

"You're gonna pay!" screams Jackie-Boy loud enough for most of Old Town to hear him. "This whole damn neighborhood is gonna burn!" He's ranting now, must be the blood loss messing with his head. He stumbles around, dizzy. Psylocke's weaving probably isn't helping his vision. He's probably seeing three of her.

"Watch your step, Jackie-Boy," I warn him.

Too late.

He turns towards my voice and steps backwards on his discarded hand. Jackie-Boy yells out in surprise as the hand squirts out from under him. He loses his already worthless balance and falls backwards, ass first on to Psylocke's throwing star.

CHUNK!

Even I have to grimace when I see him roll around on his stomach, the star sticking out his rear end like some ass-backwards hood ornament.

"Yeesh…"

In the distance I can hear Storm's bell-like laugh.

"Don't anybody laugh!" yells Jackie-Boy from the ground. "This isn't funny!" he shouts as he picks his dead hand off the ground and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Must have wanted it for sentimental value. He climbs awkwardly back to his feet and aims his gun at Psylocke again. She's still dancing; her swords vanished from her hands. The gun begins to glow purple as Jackie-Boy's anger grows.

"I got friends! I got friends you can't imagine!" he announces. "Every one of you is gonna burn! But first you're eating some bullets, you scrawny little whore!" He fires his gun with a blast of purple energy bursting from the barrel, but misses Psylocke by a mile. She's moving too fast for him to track now. He keeps firing wildly in her direction, but never even gets close.

Storm snuffs out her last cigarette under her heel and walks towards the three of us. I guess she wanted a front row seat for the finale.

"Hang it up, mon ami," I tell him. "She's just playing with you. You're only makin' it worse."

Jackie-Boy stops firing and turns his head over his shoulder at me. "You shut the hell up!" he growls at me. That's the thanks I get for trying to help some people.

Jackie-Boy's momentary lapse in firing gave Psylocke the opening she had been waiting for. Pulling a steel cylinder out of the folds of her kimono, she hurls it with incredible accuracy into the barrel of Jackie-Boy's gun.

THUNK!

The cylinder slides in with a perfect fit, plugging the barrel.

Jackie-Boy turns his attention away from me and drew a bead on Psylocke. She was no longer dancing around. She wants him to pull the trigger.

"Don't pull de trigger," I warn him. "She blocked de barrel. It'll backfire. Gonna be real messy."

"I told you to shut up!" he shouts.

He whirls around at me.

One more twinge of pity flutters through my guts.

BLAM!

The gun goes off and that blast of energy collides with the steel cylinder. Nowhere to go, the energy throws itself in reverse and blasts the gun apart, embedding the barrel in Jackie-Boy's forehead.

KUNK!

He stumbles backwards and slides down the alley wall to the ground. The throwing star lodged in his butt digs in deeper, but at this point I don't think he really notices. Blood trickled down the sides of Jackie-Boy's face, over his eyes. There was even a trickle dripping out the open end of the gun barrel. And he still doesn't shut up…

"I can't see," he mutters, his already gravelly voice coarser and rougher. "What's happening? I can't see anything, can't hear anything."

My stomach flip-flops into my throat. I gag it back down.

"For god's sake, Psylocke. Finish him," I tell her.

"Yeah make it quick, will you?" Storm says, already growing bored again.

Psylocke steps in front of Jackie-Boy and I hear the _snap-hiss_ of her sword materializing. She whirls and slices and a new fountain of blood erupts, spraying blood all over her face. She never blinks.

She doesn't quite chop his head off.

She makes a Pez dispenser out of him.

-X-

The girls slide out of every shadowed corner, every dark doorway. There's more of them than I thought there'd be. Most of them give with their usual seen-it-all, no-big-deal attitude.

Kitty and Dani and a couple others get the giggles, but that's just nerves.

Two of the new kids get sick.

Nobody talks much.

Then it's straight to business, stretching the corpses out on the alley floor and going through their pockets, divvying up cash when they find it, gathering up driver's licenses and social security cards that'll provide fake I.D. for friends and neighbors and other fellow outlaws.

I'm fishing around in Jackie-Boy's pants and pull out his wallet. It's loaded. MasterCard, Discover, Platinum American Express. Snapshots of two adorable dark haired girls who must be his kids. An A.T.M. receipt wrapped around three hundred bucks' worth of twenties that I quickly stuff into my own pocket.

What? I'm a thief after all.

Then I find an atom bomb.

Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.

He didn't keep in his wallet; I found it in one of his coat pockets.

I run my thumb across its sculpted surface for I don't know how long. Storm sees me staring at it and walks over. She sees it and rain begins to fall from the sky. I move my thumb and give her an uninhibited view.

BOOM!

Thunder and lightning erupts in the sky and the rain falls harder.

That rotten feeling in my gut. Something Rogue said. When I jumped from her window. There was a helicopter. It kicked up such a racket I couldn't quite make out what she said.

All the pieces ram into each other like a freeway pileup.

Rogue. I thought she said, "Stop."

She didn't say stop.

Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.

Storm lets out a string of curses that'd kill the pope. Another burst of thunder echoes overhead. Now all the girls in the alley are staring at me holding this atom bomb and are inching their way over to see it.

Kitty wraps her arm around mine and steps on her tiptoes to take a look. She starts to shake. Psylocke stares at it with that emotionless look she always has etched across her face.

It wasn't "Stop." Rogue wasn't saying "Stop."

If I'd waited and listened to her, I would've known. I could've warned the girls to go easy, to settle for scaring them off.

Rogue didn't say "Stop."

She said "Cop."

He's a cop. The atom bomb is his badge. "# 9586," it says. Detective Lieutenant Jackson Lucas Bishop. "Big Bishop," that's what the papers call him.

A goddamn hero cop.

It's held for years, the shaky truce. The cops get a slice of the profits and free entertainment when they throw a party. The girls get to administer their own brand of justice. They get to defend their own turf.

If a cop blunders into the neighborhood and he's not shopping for what the girls are selling, they send him packing.

Sure, they'll shoot up his squad car. They'll steal his gun and his pants. Maybe they'll send him back wearing a dress and a wig. Just for laughs. But they'll send him back. Alive. That's the rules. That's the truce.

The cops stay out. That leaves the girls free to keep the pimps and the mob out.

The mob.

This'd be a dream come true for the mob. Big Bishop, hero cop, tortured, mutilated, murdered by the girl's of Old Town. The cops will come down on the girls like the wrath of God if they find out. Old Town will be torn wide open.

It'll be war. The streets will run red with blood. Women's blood. All because one slob tossed back a few too many. A slob with a badge.

Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.

* * *

Reviewer Shout-Outs! 

Inkd and Jabbd: Cool Pen name. You are dead on the money about Storm. She was perfect for Gail. Good looking, plenty of attitude, a wild streak to her. It was perfect. Keep on reading and reviewing. It just gets better.

Stefbug: I'm glad you think I did a good job on Remy's accent. That was one thing I was nervous about, along with Bishop's acceptance. If I blew the accent it could easily ruin the story. I'm very relived you like it. And that you like Bishop as Jackie-Boy. Hope you like this chapter even more.

The Frog Prince of Crime: I hope I was right on that Carol Hines thing. Glad you picked up on that. I think that reference might have been easily over looked. Glad you like the new story. Hope you like the Storm as Gail and Kitty as Becky roles. I have something special planned out for Kitty a little later, so keep on reading.

Coldqueen: Ah, my queen. I humbly submit my latest work, your majesty. I'm glad you like Bishop as Jackie-Boy. I was afraid I'd catch some hell from my readers, but he seems to be going over well. And I threw in a little Tessa/Sage reference, just for you in this chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. You keep on sending me that eternal love, darlin', and I'll keep writing.

BenjiB: Sorry, but I'm not planning a Thunderbird scene for the immediate future. I just don't know him well enough as a character. As far as Juggernaut playing Manute, I already have another "Strong-man" lined up for the part. Juggernaut will be making an appearance in "The Big Fat Kill" though so stick around.

PoisonRogue: I'm glad you've been enjoying my fic and I hope you keep on reading. Remy's only going to get better and better.

A Pen and a Piece of Mind: Yeah, I guess I can't gripe about X3's artistic liberty since I'm taking so many of my own in my fic. Glad you like the new story, keep on reading.

Retrimesuroth: Thanks for clearing up your penname for me. I'm very flattered to be considered your favorite fanfic EVER, as you put it. I'm sorry about the long wait between the end "Hard Goodbye" and the start of "Big Fat Kill", but real life kind of had me by the balls for a little bit. Happens to the best of us. I'll try to do better from now on and keep my updates more frequent. But for now, just keep on reading and I'll keep writing.

Simba317: Wow! Once again, I am flattered and overwhelmed by your review. Thank you very much. I reveled the true identity of Flock of Seagulls in this chapter. Just a fun little twist. Keep on leaving me these long reviews and I'll keep updating as fast as I can.

Johnny Be Good: Glad I done good on the accent. "Hell and Back" is one of the graphic novels I haven't bought or read yet, so that's a long, long way off as far as writing it out. But I'll keep Morph in mind when I finally look at it. Keep those ideas coming, they help a lot.

CatLadyinTraining: I'm glad you like this story. I'll do my best not to disappoint, since it's your favorite and all. It seems I surprised quite a few people with my casting of Bishop, but I haven't had any real complaints yet. As far as changing his name, I really wanted to keep the nickname "Jackie-Boy" in the fic. It was just worked so well in the book and movie, and was such a big part of the dialogue, that I had to leave it in. Since not too many people actually know what Bishop's first name really is (I had to look it up myself), it worked out well.

Darkwolfblade: Better late than never, I always say. I hope you've been enjoying the fic so far, and I hope you enjoy it more and more as you follow the stories. Keep on reading and reviewing.

Emma Raven Moony Grimm: Hope you liked this chapter. I greatly appreciate any and all ideas any of my reviewers can come up with. They are a big help when my own brain shuts down and goes off for a stroll. You keep thinking of some good Logan spin-offs and I'll keep writing out new, even better chapters.

Lucia de'Medici: First off, you get mad props for having a Gunslinger quote in your profile. That alone automatically makes you awesome in my books. The Dark Tower series is possibly my favorite book(s) in the world. I'm glad you discovered my fic, I hope you keep on reading and enjoying it.


	12. The Long Drive

"The Big Fat Kill"

"The Long Drive"

* * *

I shove the dead cop's badge inside my coat. It hangs heavy against my chest. I check my watch. It's only been half an hour since Kitty was strutting and shaking it and showing it off, a total pro, sassy, seasoned, smiling as she lured five drunk slobs to their bloody deaths.

Half an hour. And now Kitty's shivering in the rain like a lost little orphan, her voice all quivery and cracking and hopeless.

Everything's gone straight to hell, and there isn't a woman in this alley-turned-slaughterhouse who doesn't know it. Kitty's just the first to say so.

"The cops. The mob…things are gonna go back to the way they used to be…" she whimpers.

All the other girls stare at Kitty, their faces grim and their eyes wallowing in despair. They all know she's completely right; they just don't want to admit it. The veterans, the seasoned pros, they still remember the old days, the bad old days. And all the younger, newer girls heard plenty of stories about them. Nobody wants to accept that they're back.

Especially Storm.

"The hell they will!" she growls as lightning dances across her fingertips. "We got guns. We got powers. We'll fight! We'll fight the cops and the mob and any other pricks who try to move in on us! We'll go to war!"

"Don't be stupid, Storm," I tell her, interrupting her call to arms. "Ya'll wouldn't stand a chance."

-X-

The dead cop's badge. Big Bishop's badge, pressing cold against my skin, right over the heart these girls jump-started back when I was full of bullets and about as down as a man can get.

They saved my life. They gave me a new face. They bought me a second chance. I owe them big.

"We got no time for hysterics," I say to Storm and the rest of the girls. "Get Gambit a car. Make sure it's a hardtop with a decent engine."

"Who do you think you are, giving orders?" Storm spits back at me. "You don't even live here! You got what you wanted out of us, you got what you wanted out of me, and then you were gone, off playing with that Southern white-trash barmaid! You were gone—until you dropped this unholy mess in our laps!" Storm yells at me, eyes flashing a dangerous cerulean blue—a precursor to them going white and her letting the fury of extreme weather loose on my face.

"YOU BROUGHT THEM HERE!" she shouts so everyone gathered can hear every word. "I SHOULD BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT RIGHT NOW!" She spins to her side and grabs an Uzi-hand cannon out of a girl named Siryn's hands and shoves it right in my face. I try to stay calm.

"Don't go pointing dat gun at me, Storm. Gambit mean it." I say as seriously as I can. "Put down de gun. Get me a car. Gambit'll hide de bodies."

"Hide the bodies! What, you forget that squad car that trailed them here? You think the cop driving it didn't bother to get their plate number?" she argues. "The cops know Bishop came here! They'll check the river! They'll check the sewer! They'll find him—they'll find him and they'll come gunning for us!" Storm shouts in my face and her gun comes even closer to my nose. I can smell the gunmetal and oil and it makes me sick.

"De pits. Gambit'll haul de bodies to de pits. De cops won't check de pits. Get dat gun out of my face or Gambit'll smack you," I order.

Psylocke moves to my back. I hear the _snap-hiss_ of her sword materializing. One word from Storm and she'll cut me in half.

"You'll never make it to the pits!" Storm hisses at me. She steps even closer to me, until we're almost nose-to-nose, like a pair of lovers, like we once were. The gun hovers right besides my cheek and the rain falls harder than ever. "They'll be watching the roads! They'll catch you! They'll come gunning! It'll be the bad old days all over again! The pimps! The drugs! The beatings! The rapes!" She's damn near hysterical. And when a woman who can create hurricanes and tornados out of thin air because she's upset, hysterical is the last thing any of us need. If things get any worse, there won't be an Old Town left to fight over…

"You're talkin' crazy! Dey won't be watching the roads, not yet dey won't!" I shout right back in her face. "Get me a damn hardtop! Gambit'll hide de bodies at de pits! If Gambit don't make it, you can have your war! Get me a hardtop and get dat gun out of my face! Now!"

She doesn't move, just stands there, nose-to-nose with me, her whitening eyes just daring me to do something.

"Damn it, Gambit warned you!"

Faster than anyone could follow, I knock the gun away and, with my other hand, slap Storm hard across the face.

"YOU BASTARD!" she roars at me. Thunder booms and a bolt of lightning strikes the ground right behind me.

A dozen guns cock behind me and I hear the girls with powers bring them to bear. Every girl in Old Town is ready to end me. I remember the empty feeling you get when Psylocke slides those blades of hers into your guts. A dread thought tells me I might feel them again.

Then something softens in Storm's eyes; they fade from white back to their beautiful blue.

"You bastard," she calls me again, this time more of a purr than an insult. "I forgot how quick you are."

She almost yanks my head clean off, shoving my mouth into hers so hard it hurts, her kiss a savage thing, savage and endlessly angry, an explosion that blasts away all the dull gray years between the now and that one fiery night when she was mine.

Our tongues battle back and forth in a fury of passion, her gun clatters onto the ground, and sparks of lightning dances from her lips to mine. Like fire…

She'll always be mine.

My warrior woman, my Valkyrie. She'll always be mine; I'll always love her, even though I never will. Always and never.

The fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. There's no place in this world for our kind of fire.

Always and never.

If I have to die for you tonight, I will.

I come up for air and break the kiss for just a moment, just long enough for me to turn around to Kitty and Psylocke.

"…A hardtop with a decent engine," I order them. "And make sure it's got a big trunk!"

I turn back to Storm, my warrior woman, my Valkyrie. She gazes into my red eyes with her baby blues and a part of me wants to melt into her arms and smother her with kisses.

"Gambit'll always love you, Ororo," I whisper her real name softly so the others won't hear.

"I know, Remy," she answers back, using my real name. I sounded nice, not as nice as when Rogue says it, but still nice. "Always and never."

-X-

A few minutes of slippery work, getting the corpses ready. We stretch them out next to each other, all in a row, like cigarettes in a pack. "Big Bishop's" badge slaps against my chest every time I move. It keeps reminding me:

Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch. You got me good. You got me good.

The whole time I'm giving orders, Storm's eyes are burning into the back of my skull like a pair of laser beams. She doesn't say a word. If that kiss was our last goodbye it was a damn good one and we'd both just as soon leave it that way.

Just then, Siryn and Dani pulled up in a piece of shit jalopy T-Bird. It might have been a nice car, once upon a time. Like back in the Kennedy Administration. I'd rather take my Caddy; its trunk is more than big enough to stash Jackie-Boy and his pals. But the same cop who followed Bishop might have gotten my plate number, too. Besides, my Caddy's top is broken and I haven't had the cash to get the parts I need to fix it and I'd be sure to get pulled over, driving all the way to the puts in the rain with the top down.

"Where'd ya'll find dat heap?" I ask the girls. "Jus' look at dat trunk! We'll never fit dem all in!"

"It's the best we could do," protested Dani. "It's not like we had a lotta time."

Kitty walks up behind Storm, looking pale and frightened. "Um, Storm? Unless there's something you want me to do, you think, like, maybe I could go home? All this blood and stuff, it's got me feeling kinda like maybe I'm gonna hurl."

"Yeah sure, Kitty. Go on home," answers Storm. "But don't talk to anybody. Not even your mom. Got it?"

"I won't call my mom, Storm. I promise."

Meanwhile, I'm crouching down next to Jackie-boy and his buddies' corpses, trying to work some way to fit them all in the T-Bird's trunk. Every idea ends the same way…

"Nah. Dey'll never fit dat trunk. Not like dis dey won't. We gotta make dem easier to pack. Let me get my coat off, Psylocke. Gambit'll give you a hand.

Psylocke only answered with the snap-hiss of her psychic blade materializing.

Storm was still talking to Kitty when I shrugged off my duster and picked up Flock of Seagull's legs.

"And Kitty," she calls after the young girl hurrying away from the scene, "Dry your hair the second you get home. You'll catch cold if you don't."

SHAKK!

Storm turns just in time to see Psylocke slice through Flock of Seagull's thighs, just above the knees.

"Yeesh…" Storm mutters.

I try not to look or flinch asPsylocke cuts the rest up.

SHAKK! SHAKK! SHAKK!

-X-

In another alley, in another part of Old Town…

Kitty is freaking out. Sure, she had seen plenty of guys murdered in Old Town before. She had even seen Jean pistol whip the hell out of some ugly bum a little while back. But tonight…

They killed a cop. She helped kill a cop…

This is bad, really bad.

She is too young; she wasn't around for the bad old days, as Storm and the other veterans called them. She just heard about them and that was enough. She heard about how the pimps treated the girls; how the girls got beat and raped and hooked on drugs. They were going to happen again. And it is partially her fault…

Kitty is terrified. And there is only one person who could always make her feel safe, feel loved…

As soon as Storm was out of sight, Kitty runs for the nearest pay phone and frantically shoves quarters in the slot.

Tak, Tak, Tak…She pushes the familiar numbers rapidly and taps her foot impatiently as she waits for the call to connect.

Dani and Siryn were returning to their posts out on the main road and walk right past Kitty.

"Hey!" calls Dani, getting Kitty's attention. "Kitty—Storm said no calls!"

"I just wanna hear my mom's voice," Kitty explains defensively. "Like, I'm not going to tell her nothing. Please don't tell Storm. She'll get mad."

Dani and Siryn look at each other for a second and both understand where Kitty was coming from. They nod to the frightened girl and head back out towards the main streets of Old Town, just as the T-Bird rounds the corner and heads for the highway.

-X-

Dizzy Dames. What the hell were they thinking, sticking me with a beat-up bucket of bolts like this? Somebody oughtta take it out back and shoot it like Ol' Yeller. It'd be a mercy.

A few years before I was born, this T-Bird must've been a pretty sweet set of wheels. But it's been around a few too many blocks and whoever owned it obviously didn't indulge in luxuries like the occasional tune-up or oil change. The engine jerks and farts like an old man on a bad diet. The steering mechanism's got terminal arthritis. The suspension makes every pothole an adventure. The left rear tire is as soft as a rotten banana and if that's a slow leak I'm good and screwed. I had to chuck the spare to make room for all the neatly chopped body parts we packed in the truck.

Maybe five blocks out I happen to glance down at the gas gauge. What I see gets me pounding my fists against the steering wheel like some lunatic. I curse out every girl who ever worked Old Town and every relative any of them ever had.

How the hell am I supposed to make it all the way to the pits and back on less than an eighth of a tank?

Dizzy Dames! Dizzy, scared, stupid dames! You couldn't bother to fill the goddamn tank?

I drive a couple more blocks while my heart slows back down and I stop wishing terrible things onto the girls of Old Town.

Settle down. Get rattled and you're no use to anybody. Breathe steady. Breathe deep. All you need is luck. A lot of luck. Great, big, fat gobs of luck. An act of God wouldn't hurt a bit.

I go through my options. There isn't many and they all aren't very encouraging.

I can't stop for gas. I can't stop for anything. I can't get stopped for anything.

Not while I'm hauling hundreds of pounds of the wrong kind of meat.

Not with the passenger I've got riding shotgun.

My fellow traveler.

We ran out of room. We were barely able to get the truck to stay closed as it was; we'd packed it so tight. Two of the girls had to sit on the lid before I could get the lock to catch.

And there was Jackie-Boy, left over.

If this heap was a four-seater, we could've tossed him in the back. But no, that would have been too much to ask for. There wasn't anything we could to but pile him in right next to me, out where anybody who cares to look will see him.

I take a look at my co-pilot on this little adventure. The front of his shirt is coated in blood and the barrel of his gun is still sticking in his forehead.

Go ahead. Help yourself to one of his cigarettes. It'll help.

I fish into his coat pocket and pull out a pack of Marlboro Reds.

Go ahead. It'll help.

I light up and suck the smoke deep into my lungs.

"Gotcha smokin', huh, bud?" my co-pilot leers.

The gravelly voice only startles me for a minute. I take another long drag on my borrowed cigarette.

"Shut de 'ell up, Jackie-Boy. You're dead. Gambit's just imagining dis," I state the obvious. "So shut de 'ell up."

"Course I'm dead. Course your only imagining I'm talking. Tells ya something about your state of mind, doesn't it? Your nerves are shot. It's gotcha hearing things. It's gotcha smoking." Jackie-Boy leans his head back and starts laughing, Psylocke's cut stretching across his throat. It makes his voice faint and wheezy when he tilts his head back.

"**_You know it's true—nobody ever really quits. You just stop for a while. A smoker's a smoker_**," he tilts his head back down and his voice returns to his normal raspy tone, "When the chips are down. And your chips are down, pal. You're sucking sidewalk."

"Gambit's fine! You shut de 'ell up!

WWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOMMMMM!"

A sudden unholy roar. My teeth and every piece of the T-Bird rattle and dance like a college girl at Mardi Gras. It's a police chopper; passing so close it nearly bats us clean off the hill.

My heart starts to pound a mile a minute and I grip the steering wheel so hard it hurts. Jesus! If they'd had their landing gear down it would've made a convertible out of this heap. Why are they flying so low? Do they know?

I take a long drag off the cigarette. Relax. Don't get crazy. The pilot's just having fun with you. They do that all the time. Just to scare people.

Don't get crazy. Don't listen to Jackie-Boy. He's dead. You're hallucinating. It's just nerves. Don't listen. Have another one of his cigarettes. It'll help.

"You oughtta see the surveillance equipment our copters pack these days. It's right out of Star Wars. My buddies up there could count the freckles on your fanny." He laughs like a hyena. **_"If they checked us out just now, they know everything. You been made. So smoke 'em if you got 'em, sweetheart! It can't hurt! You're as good as dead as I am!"_**

Don't listen. It's just your own fear talking. Don't listen.

"Aw, will ya look at that? And here I thought we'd at least get a decent car chase outta you. But those hookers—they let you down, honey bunch!"

I check the gas gauge again. The needle is starting to slip towards the big red "E".

"**_What're gonna do when you run out of gas—call Triple A?"_** mocked Jackie-Boy. "You're a sucker, Gambino. A sucker for the babes. I bet their laughing their sweet little butts off at you right now! You ain't even gonna make it to the pits, you schmcuk!"

"Gambit'll make it!" I shout back at the corpse. "There's enough gas! Shut de 'ell up! Gambit always makes it!"

"Not unless you keep your eyes on the road, sugar pie." I turn back to the road just in time to see a pickup truck bearing down on me. I spin the steering wheel as hard as I can. I hear screaming metal as the heap tries to move out of the way. I barely make it back into my lane before the truck flies by. The driver flips me the finger as he passes. Jerk. Meanwhile, Jackie-Boy is having a ball.

"Man, this is great! Just like being in a buddy movie!" He leans his head on my shoulder like he was my date at the drive-in instead of a bloody asshole corpse.

"SHUT UP!" I shove him back over to the passenger side hard enough to knock his head off. It hangs off the side of his neck by the flap of skin Psylocke left when she cut him.

He reaches up and pulls his head back down to where it meets his neck and slides it around until it fits back in place.

"…**_I'm tellin' ya. Those cowboys got a good look at me. They'll have the cops on you in no time."_**

"SHUT UP!" I shout again. This whole bit is really getting on my nerves.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

"Heh. Told you so," Jackie-Boy smirks. I check my rearview mirror and see flashing red and blue lights. A motorcycle cop.

"I may be dead," howls Jackie-Boy, "I may be dead, but you are **_screwed! You are down! You are out! You are finished! Stick a fork in ya! You're cooked! You're gone! You're dead! You're swirling around the bottom of the bowl and nose-diving down the pipe! It's over you're flushed!"_**

"Dis time Gambit can't bring myself to tell him to shut up," I think out loud. "Sure he's an asshole. Sure he's dead. Sure Gambit's just imagining that he's talking. None of dat stops de bastard from bein' absolutely right."

"Dis cop wants Gambit 'nd Gambit don't have a prayer of outrunning him. Not in dis heap."

"De only question left is whether Gambit gonna kill him or not. It's a tough call. For all Gambit knows, dis cop is as honest as de day is long. For all Gambit knows he's a prince among men, a saint in de makin'. Or maybe he's jus' a regular guy, a workin' stiff with a mortgage 'nd a wife 'nd a pile of kids."

"My hand's move all on der own, slidin' a couple of cards to my lap 'nd chargin' dem with energy."

"Gambit don't know what to do."

By now the cop has pulled up along side me and is motioning me to the side of the road.

"PULL OVER!"

"Gambit don't know what to do…"

"Oh, the angst! The torment! You're breaking my heart!" Jackie-Boy coos with excitement. "You're making him mad. You'd better stop."

Jackie-Boy, you son of a bitch. Thanks for the tip.

"Whatever you say."

I slam on the brakes as hard as I can. The car squeals and slides on the wet road.

SHOMFF!

The sudden change in momentum slams Jackie-Boy forward. His head smashes into the dashboard, driving the gun barrel even deeper into his head. Jackie-Boy doesn't move anymore, he just rests against the dash, his long hair covering up any trace of the gun barrel.

The cop walks up to the T-Bird. Poor guy, he's been riding that bike all night in the rain. Probably pissed off and looking to take it out on someone. I hide my glowing cards under the folds of my duster and silently pray to whoever might be listening.

The cop raps on the window and I roll it down. His flashlight peers at my face then at Jackie-Boy. He lingers on Jackie-Boy for a minute then turns the light back to me.

"Your friend—party a little too hard tonight?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I answer with the calmest tone of voice I can muster. I even suppress my accent just in case. "I'm the designated driver."

The cop looks at me then back at Jackie-Boy. "Well, you're driving with a busted tail light." He pauses for a moment and I start to pull the duster away from my cards.

"I'll let you off with a warning," he says and walks back to his motorcycle. I don't breathe until he's long gone back the way we came. Then I let it out in one big sigh of relief. I toss my cards out the window and they explode in harmless pops.

I check the fuel gauge again. The needle is even closer to the big "E".

I start the car back up and rub the kinks out of my neck.

What next?

-X-

The Pits.

A couple million years ago, the Santa Yolanda Tar Pits trapped some of the dumber residents of the neighborhood, preserving the skeletons of Cave Men and Wooly Mammoths and a Saber-Toothed Tiger or two. More recently, the county turned the pits into a theme park and found out the goop could suck in money, too. Turns out tourists didn't turn out in droves to see big black puddles and a bunch of old bones. They tried dressing up real animals, but watching drugged tigers stagger around wearing false teeth just made people feel depressed.

Then a big-budget dinosaur movie caused a sensation, so the county dumped a few million tax dollars more into the pits, putting up all these statues of Tyrannosaurs Rex and Triceratops and a dozen more lizards whose names you can't pronounce unless your six years old. Business picked up just swell—until a railing broke and somebody's grandmother fell in and had a heart attack before they could pull her out. A wanna-be photographer named Parker was in town with his gray old aunt and he took plenty of pictures. The next morning that thrashing old woman made the front page of every new paper in the country. There was nothing left to do but swallow the cost and shut the place down.

High-schoolers sneak in here all the time when the weather's good. There's no trouble finding a hole in the fence.

The tank goes dry a quarter mile from the pits. I shove the T-Bird the rest of the way.

I slip through one of the holes in the fence and open up the gate from the inside. A few more minutes work and it'll all be over. Jackie-Boy and his buddies will be at the bottom of the pits and I can catch a train out of Sacred Oaks and be back home before sunrise.

All of a sudden I remember I promised Rogue I'd call her. Almost makes me burst out laughing. Feels like it's been a month since we were making love in her bed, and here it's only been three hours. Three hours—and a lifetime's worth of bad calls and bad breaks and ugly, nasty business…

…But it'll all be over soon. This heap of a T-Bird and everyone in it will sink into the primordial muck of the tar pits and nobody's gonna know where they went. Nobody but me and the girls of Old Town and a bunch of concrete and plastic dinosaurs. "Big Bishop" will be preserved for all time, a somewhat damaged specimen of the early twenty-first century asshole.

Maybe Rogue will let me come back to her place if I'm nice when I call her. Can't remember ever pining for a girl after only being away for three hours. I push the T-Bird harder, the thoughts of Rogue urging me on.

I reach the edge of the pits. One more good push and it'll all be over.

BLAM!

"Gaaa!" Something white hot slams into my chest and knocks all the wind out of my lungs in a sudden rush. I sink to the wet ground behind the T-Bird as the world goes as black as the bubbling pools of tar behind me.

So close. I was so…close…

* * *

Reviewer Shout-Outs: 

Johnny Be Good: Thanks for the support. I actually went to buy "Hell and Back" this past weekend at Waldenbooks, but they didn't have it in. Jerks. So I guess I'll have to wait a little bit longer to see what you've been talking about. Just keep reading and sending me these golden ideas in the meantime.

The Frog Prince of Crime: I'm glad you liked the roles of Kitty and Psylocke. To me, they were a perfect fit for the roles of Becky and Miho. I actually thought about using Lady Deathstrike as Miho, but the Miho has to be one of the good guys as well as someone who shish kabobs the bad guys. And I didn't want to have to explain the whole cyborg thing. I could have used the X2 version, but that was a little to similar to Wolverine for this fic and I didn't want to mix the two.

NoOoNoOo Lebeau: I'm glad you were finally able to review, I greatly appreciate them. I hope you liked the tar pits idea. Couldn't use a cliff, they would still be able to ID the bodies. Keep on reading and reviewing.

Darkwolfblade: You know, I've always wanted to be someone's hero. I'm glad you're enjoying my work so much. I'm glad you liked my choice in using Bishop and I hope you keep on reading/stalking me. LOL.

Retrimesuroth: Thanks for your concern about my balls, I think. Glad you like the updates. There's plenty more to come.

DJRyce: I'm always glad to find new audiences who love my work so much. I'm glad you liked Bishop so much. It was the role I spent the most time on casting and I've loved the response I've gotten from my readers about it. Although I didn't think of Deadpool or Punisher. They would have worked well. Ah, yes the Remy/Ororo hookup. I'm probably going to catch a bit of hell for that, especially from some of my hardcore ROMY fans, but I wanted to stay true to the Sin City story. I'm glad you think my story is engaging and good enough with the Remy/Ororo bits.

Emma Raven Moony Grimm: I'm glad you caught the Kitty X-Men: Evolution "likes" I threw in there. That version of Kitty was what I modeled my Kitty after. Hope I got her right. There's something big concerning her coming up in a little while. Keep reading and thinking of ideas for me.

Stefbug: Thanks for the review. Its ok if you start running out of new things to say, the things you've already said have all been very nice and appreciated darlin'. I'm glad you liked Storm as Gail and Psylocke as Miho, and I'm especially glad that I've somehow inspired you to post your own stuff. I look forward to reading some when I get the chance.

PoisonRogue: Come on down from the clouds and join the rest of us down here! I'm glad my fic has you soaring. Just remember to come on down to keep reading and reviewing for me.

A Pen and A Piece of Mind: Glad you like Gumbo as much as me. He's not my second or even third favorite, but he's still at least Top 10. Thanks for the support.


	13. The Pits

"The Big Fat Kill"

"The Pits"

* * *

"No more questions, Dani. Do as I say," Storm says into her cell phone. She was back in her apartment, peeling off her soaked leathers. "Clear the streets. We're in lockdown," she says snuffing out her cigarette. "We're not selling any tail in Old Town. Not tonight. Go on home. Goodnight." Storm snaps her cell phone shut and tosses it onto her bed.

She grabs a towel and begins to dry her naked body when a massive pair of gloved hands reaches out of the darkness. They coil around her, pinning her arms behind her back and wrapping around her throat.

"Don't struggle," a deep voice says. "You'll only hurt yourself." Storm struggles anyway, trying to fight off her attacker. But the man's strength is enormous and he only holds her naked body tighter against his own cold body.

Storm's eyes widen and her irises go white. Static electricity levitates her hair and makes the lights in the room flicker.

"Don't bother with the lightning. You can't hurt me without bring down the whole building. Right on top of all your little whore friends." Storm's eyes turn back to their normal blue and she stops struggling.

"Have no hope. Your cause is lost. We know everything. You were going to the tar pits to help the man you love. To make sure he's safe." The man chuckles grimly. "He is not safe."

Those four words echo in Storm's head and she renews her struggles. She lashes out with her teeth, but can't reach the fingers at her throat. The man tightens his grip even more. Storm mutters a soft cry of pain as the bones in her wrists scream in agony.

"Soon the corpse of Lieutenant Bishop will be in our hands. The truce between the police and you prostitutes will be shattered. There will be arrests. There will be deaths. My employer will seize what remains of this neighborhood. You will be slaves. Nothing can stop this.

The man lowers his head and whispers into Storm's ear. "But it is in your power to save many lives. By facilitating the process of transition. By negotiating the surrender of Old Town."

A bolt of lightning goes off in Storm's mind, bringing back a whirlwind of memories.

"Son of a bitch. You son of a bitch," she hisses. "I know you."

The man laughs. "Your memory serves you well." He lets go of her throat and shoves her roughly to the ground. Storm lands with a thud and stares at a man she thought was long dead.

"I have suffered you and your kind before," he growls. "The dregs of Sin City." He steps into the light and Storm's terror increased ten-fold. Before her stands a monster of a man; tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a chauffeur's uniform. His face was partially hidden underneath a black cap, but Storm could see the gleaming gold orb that replaced what was once his right eye. The light gleams off the man's organic steel skin.

"Colossus! But how…" Storm mutters. "We…Gambit…killed you!" she shouted at the man.

"The brute called Logan, who ripped an eye from me with his claws. The assassin Psylocke, who shoved her psychic blades through the bones of my arms. And your beloved Remy LeBeau, the demon called Gambit, who threw six of his playing cards into my chest—Gambit, who rose from the slime you both inhabit to murder the goddess Bella Donna and deny me the honor of dying with her."

A metallic boot lashes out and connects with Storm's ribs. She crumbles to the floor, holding her side.

"I serve a new master now. Soon you and all your wretched kind will serve him as well. Get dressed," he orders. "I suggest something less provocative than what you wore when you arrived here. Men of low character will see you tonight," Colossus suggests.

"Yu wasted time, big man," snaps Storm from the ground. "You waited until I had all my wet clothes off, before you grabbed me. You waited till I was butt-naked. And you liked what you saw, didn't you." Storm's voice rose to a purr only a dead man could ignore. "Come on. Admit it. I could tell. You held me so close there wasn't an atom in the way—too bad you're hung like a flea!" she roars.

A gloved hand of steel slaps her across the face, sending her reeling to the ground again. Storm rears her head up and glares daggers at the Russian standing over her.

"Waste no time," he orders. "I was asked to bring you unspoiled if I could. I would hate to have to mar your flawless skin. Get dressed. And shed a tear for Gambit if you must. For by now, he is surely dead."

"You're wrong!" shouts Storm. "My man will find a way. He always finds a way."

-X-

A few more minutes work and it'll all be over. Jackie-Boy and his buddies will be at the bottom of the pits and I can catch a train out of Sacred Oaks and be back home before sunrise.

All of a sudden I remember I promised Rogue I'd call her. Almost makes me burst out laughing. Feels like it's been a month since we were making love in her bed, and here it's only been three hours. Three hours—and a lifetime's worth of bad calls and bad breaks and ugly, nasty business…

…But it'll all be over soon. This heap of a T-Bird and everyone in it will sink into the primordial muck of the tar pits and nobody's gonna know where they went. Nobody but me and the girls of Old Town and a bunch of concrete and plastic dinosaurs. "Big Bishop" will be preserved for all time, a somewhat damaged specimen of the early twenty-first century asshole.

Maybe Rogue will let me come back to her place if I'm nice when I call her. Can't remember ever pining for a girl after only being away for three hours. I push the T-Bird harder, the thoughts of Rogue urging me on.

I reach the edge of the pits. One more good push and it'll all be over.

BLAM!

"Gaaa!" Something white hot slams into my chest and knocks all the wind out of my lungs in a sudden rush. I sink to the wet ground behind the T-Bird as the world goes as black as the bubbling pools of tar behind me.

So close. I was so…close…

-X-

Three figures walk out of the darkness. Two men and one woman. One of the men, close to seven feet tall of bulking muscle, brought up the rear of the group. The other was leading the pack and held a smoking gun and was laughing.

"I can't fathom these American's," he says in a pleasant Irish voice. He has a full gray beard and walked with a slight limp. "They're always whinin' and weepin' and wailin' and goin' on about how they got it so bad. This here is a fine country. A grand country. The guiding light of the modern world, it is."

"You wouldn't consider doin' the rest of us the favor of shuttin' your gob and staplin' it shut, now would you, Tom?" said the woman. She was young, barely in her twenties with long copper hair and cut a slim, but fine figure. "Before we're all stone-cold dead from boredom, that is."

"Listen to her!" 'Black' Tom Cassidy exclaims. "The mouth on our dear little Rahne! All that out of nowhere, like that she's talking. That's America for you. Equal rights. Low taxes. Land of opportunity, eh Cain?"

"It ain't America," Cain Marko, the big bulking man answers. Like his companions, he's dressed all in black fatigues. But Cain has on a large, bullet shaped helmet on as well. The helmet completely enclosed his head and face, leaving just three holes in the front for his eyes and mouth. When asked why he wears it, Cain always smiled and said the helmet keeps his face pretty (which was a nightmare before he ever put the helmet on in the first place). "Rahne's always had too much mouth on her. Soon she'll be howlin' at the moon!" he laughed. Tom joins in on the joke and starts laughing as well.

"Piss off, the both of you shitheads," Rahne growls. It's a feral sound, not something that a human voice could make. But Rahne, like her companions, wasn't exactly human.

Tom ignores her and continues his little speech as they approached the T-Bird.

"Land of opportunity this is. Where else would one bullet buy the fortune we're getting' for this?"

"Sure and it beats the living hell out of blowing up airports and churches without a shilling to show for it," agrees Rahne as she reaches the passenger side window. She stares in and looks at what's left of poor Jackie-Boy. He was sitting upright again, the end of the barrel in his forehead aimed straight into the sky. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth like drool.

"Yeesh,' she mutters to herself.

Outside, near the rear of the car, close to where he shot the bloke Gambit like he was told to, Tom was rummaging around the over grown grass.

"You find something, Tom?" asked Cain.

"Yeah," replies Tom as he crouches down on his knees. "Looks to be our poor, dead cop's badge. But it's all bent up. There's something stuck in it..." Tom rotates the badge until he sees the front. A large bullet, just like the kind Tom was using in his gun, was smashed into the metal shield.

"…Oh, bloody hell. It's the bloody bullet!"

-X-

Jackie-Boy's badge.

Slapping against my chest.

Right over my heart.

Tom slowly turns towards me, his eyes going wide when he sees the energy filled playing cards in my hands.

"Oh, bloody hell…"

I throw one card at Tom. The card cackles and hisses in the rain and strikes the man right between the eyes.

BOOM!

The card explodes on contact and Tom's head goes the way of the dodo.

It didn't take long for Rahne and Cain catch on and start opening fire at me. I twist and duck my way to the other side of the car and use it for cover.

"You son of a bitch!" curses Rahne. Her voice sounded different to me. I peek my head up just enough to see her and my jaw drops. Instead of seeing the slim, but attractive girl, there was a werewolf firing an Uzi at me. Not like a Lon Chaney Wolf Man thing either. A wolf's head, complete with muzzle and teeth, snarls at me while a tail pokes out the back of her tight fatigues. Fur the same copper color of her hair grows out of her skin until she's completely covered. Somehow she can still stand upright and her hands are still human enough to hold and fire her gun at me.

A group of bullets ricochet off the car just above my head and I duck back down, having done enough sight seeing for a time. I hold a card between my thumb and forefinger and let it charge. And charge. And charge until its white-hot. I jump out from behind the car and throw the card. It passes through the shot out driver's side window and slams into Jackie-Boy's head. Instead of exploding, the blazing hot card slices through the asshole's skull like a knife through butter. It flies out the other side and explodes on the she-wolf's shoulder, leaving a nasty, deep wound. She howls in pain and I see her beady, bloodshot eyes glaring at me right before I throw a handful of card into her chest.

BOOM!

"You bastard!" shrieks the big guy at me. He has a clean shot at me and pulls the trigger of his machine gun. The gun clicks empty and the big man curses at it before crushing it with his bare hands.

This one might be some trouble.

Cain lowers his helmeted head and charges at the T-Bird. I throw handful after handful of cards at him, but he just runs through the explosions, completely unharmed. He bears down on me and I narrowly miss getting trampled over. Rolling to one side, I throw more cards at the man's massive back. The cards hit with as much force as all the others, and had similar results.

Cain stopped and turned back around to face me. I slowly began to maneuver away from the car, closer to the Pits where I would have more room.

"Got any more mosquitoes to hit me with, squirt?" he laughs at me.

"Gambit think he gonna try somethin' else," I answer and pull my retractable Bo staff from inside my duster. With a push of a button, the staff expands from one foot to six feet of solid steel. I twirl the staff over my and wave the human juggernaut in.

"What're gonna do? Poke me with that toothpick?" he laughs harder this time and lowers his head to charge again.

He storms forward, his heavy feet shaking the very ground as he approached.

Holding the staff in one hand, I throw more cards at him, alternating my aim from his face and the ground in front of him. Clouds of dust rise from the ground and partially hide me, giving me the one chance I need.

"ARRRRRGH!" Cain shouts as he closes in on me. He thrusts out his arms to grab me and catches only air. He stops in his tracks and looks around for me. The dust hides me well as I run behind Cain. Using my staff like a pole vault, I leap onto the head of one of the nearby dinosaur statues.

"Where are you, you little shit?" Cain bellows as the dust clears.

"Behind you, mon ami," I call. Cain whirls around and stares up.

I'm sitting on the top of one of the dinosaur statues, shuffling a new deck of cards. "You ever play 52 card pick up?" I ask.

Cain bellows in rage as I throw the entire deck of charged cards at him. All 52 crash into his chest, the combined force sending the big man flying into the air. He lands in the pits with a loud squelch and sank like a rock.

I hop down from statue and return my staff to its place inside my duster. I gulp down the bile in my throat and tell my stomach there's nothing in it to throw up.

These guys were cops. These three were mercenaries, rented terrorists. And if they were hired by who I think they were, the bad times haven't even started yet.

Then something heavy soft-lands in the grass, not four feet away.

A grenade.

And here everything seemed to be gong so well…

KA-BOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!

-X-

The world erupts in a ball of white light. The light picks up the T-Bird and throws it around like a rag doll. The trunk opens and dozens of severed body parts fly out of it. Fitzroy's head, with his Flock of Seagulls haircut, winds up in a tree.

Hellish blackness replaces the ball of light.

A blip of non-existence, like a TV switching stations. Then a jackhammer where my brain ought to be. Screeching dentist drills stuck in my ears.

From under all that come voices…

"…Sure I got hold of this copper well enough, Moira—but its not like I'm the Hulk, now is it? We'd be needin' us a friggin' crane to pull the bastard outta this soup."

"It's not like we gotta deliver every last inch of the man, Sean."

"You got a point there, Moira. Lend me your knife."

Before I even open my eyes, I know I'm in the tar. Its inky, icky blackness covers me. When I open my eyes, the tar stings. I'm semi-floating, semi-sinking in the goop, surrounded by the body parts of Jackie-Boy's friends. In front of me is the T-Bird—if only those dizzy dames had gotten me a better car none of this would have happened—with two more Irish terrorists for hire. One of them, a girl, maybe in her thirties, with the same copper hair Rahne had had. In the pit with me was a man with blonde hair. He was digging into the passenger seat for something.

"Should I take me a nap while I'm doing all this waiting?" the girl, Moira, asks.

"I'm at the bone, alright?" the man, Sean, answers and a second later he steps away from the T-Bird holding Jackie-Boy's head up like a trophy.

"Here we go," he says as he climbs out of the tar. "You ever seen anything so pretty in your life?"

I try to swim towards the edge of the pit, but moving only makes the slop suck me in deeper. The tar creeps over my chest, then shoulders. Soon I can barely keep my head above the tar. I can see Moira and Sean talking to three more terrorists. These guys just keep coming out of the woodwork.

"We'll be back for the three of you after we deliver the package. If anybody happens by here…"

"We know what do Sean. It's not like your talkin' to a pack of nuns, now is it?"

Sean opens his mouth to say something else, but by now the tar has covered my ears. I take one last look at the starry sky and sink into the dark.

-X-

Silence, now. No sound but Jackie-Boy's laughter and I'm imagining that.

Nothing. No sound. No light. No air to breathe. Only the bone-deep cold and the horrid, oily tar taste creeping up my nostrils, pressing against my lips.

'Let it in,' a voice in my head says. 'Let it fill your lungs. Its over. You're finished. The girls are finished. They were counting on you and you blew it.'

'Let it in. Suck it in and choke on it and drown in it and die like a man, not like some scared little catholic boy, thrashing and sniveling and praying to Jesus.'

'Lord, I don't mind dying. Not too awfully much I don't. But not like this. I'm begging you lord. Don't let me die knowing I'm nothing but a jerk, a failure, a loser, a complete and utter asshole.'

-X-

Skinny, steely fingers at my wrist.

Psylocke.

No, baby. No. It's too late. I'm down too deep. You're only killing yourself.

A sudden jerk upward.

I'm dreaming. I'm already dead and dreaming. It's impossible.

Impossible.

Still going upwards. Noise now. The _chink_, _chink_ of a chain. The revving of an engine, a good one, not like the T-Bird, may it rust in pieces at the bottom of the Pits.

Psylocke. You're an angel. You're a saint. You're a blessing from above.

Light now. I open my eyes and blink the tar out of them. I can see Dani behind the wheel and a chain attached to the back. I see Psylocke's foot hooked around a metal hook at the end of the chain.

Air. Sweet air. Psylocke. You're Mother Teresa. You're Elvis. You're God.

And if you'd shown up ten minutes earlier and gotten just a bit more killing done, we'd still have Jackie-Boy's head.

I finally stand on solid ground and take a look at the naked body of my savior. She's covered from head to toe in tar, just like I am, and I fight off the urge to kiss her.

"Gambit!" shouts Dani as she runs towards us. "They got Storm! She was supposed to meet us at the car! She didn't show up! We went to her apartment and she was gone! They got her!"

"DAMN!" Blood rushes to my head and boils. My hands start to glow and cackle with energy. My eyes glow bright. Not only do the bastards have the head, but now they got Storm and God know what they're going to do to her.

Stay strong, baby. Stay tough. Gambit's coming.

I bottle my rage enough to talk to the girls. "We got us a lot we gotta do, girls. And we don't have a lick of time to do it in. It's a cinch you got ya'll a spy in Old Town. A stoolie who sold you out to de mob. We gotta find out who dat is. We gotta rescue Storm. But first we gotta get our hands on Jackie-Boy's head before it gets to wherever it's going and dis whole situation blows wind open." Dani nods in agreement. Psylocke remains impassive as ever.

I look around the Pits and all I see are bodies with arrows through their eyes and bodies cut to ribbons. "Psylocke—I hope to hell you left one of dem alive enough to talk."

She points across the way at the big T-Rex statue. There's a man; naked, bound, and gagged hanging upside down from the dinosaur's jaws.

I walk up to him, still covered in tar and holding a long knife I took off one of the terrorist's bodies.

I let him know I'm not fooling around.

He screams when the knife enters his belly and starts to cry when I give it a little twist.

We talk.

* * *

Reviewer Shout-outs! Yay!

Stefbug: I'm glad you like the way I handled the mutant powers. The first time I wrote a rough copy of these stories, I went a little overboard with the powers and it didn't feel very Sin City like. Now I try to use them like I would use a gun or something—only when I need to. Storm was tough as far as powers go, especially since she could go all hurricane when she loses her temper. Glad you liked the interaction between her and Remy. Hope you like this chapter.

Qpyd: Glad you like my badass Gambit. Keep on reading and reviewing.

PoisonRogue: Sounds like you're flying as much as the real Rogue. Reviews like yours are the very reason I keep writing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Darkwolfblade: The conversation between Jackie-Boy and Dwight in the car was one of my favorite scenes in the movie and I tried to maintain that atmosphere in my fic. As far as everyone's favorite southern belle making a return, I am planning on having her make a return in the later chapters. Stick around for her.

The Frog Prince of Crime: Well, Psylocke had always been my first choice. Lady Deathstrike was a passing thought that almost played out. Psy is just more badass than Deathstrike, plus Psy had that silent assassin feel to her. Glad you liked the way Storm is progressing. Tell me what you think of her in this chapter. Thanks for the continuous reviews. They have been very helpful.

NoOoNoOo Lebeau: Thanks for the great review. Glad you like the Remy/Ororo interaction. I kinda agree with you when it comes to Romy stuff. She does treat Gambit like dirt, but I like it anyway. I decided to use Storm as the main attraction in this fic because it was different. I thought of how Storm was Gambits original contact with the X-Men and was his sponsor onto the team. Well, here's the next chapter. I hope the suspense didn't kill you.

Elfkid: Always glad to have new reviewers. I felt Yukio wasn't well known enough to be a major character. I only knew her from Wolverine issues and she seemed to be too wild for the silent Miho. X-23 would have been good, but I didn't want to have such a strong connection to Wolverine in "The Big Fat Kill." As far as "A Dame to Kill For," I'm planning on starting that after this fic is finished. I haven't decided whether or not to put it in the "Blood, Bullets, and Broads," story or just have it stand by itself. Right now I'm thinking about having it by itself, since it takes place before "Big Fat Kill."

OroroHowlett: Thanks for the review. I'd appreciate more than a single sentence next time, though.

CatLadyinTraining: Glad your computer is back up and running. You nailed Manute right on the head. What do you think of my choice?

Coldqueen: Welcome back, your highness. Missed ya there for a while. I'm glad you could adapt to a Remy/Ororo based fic. Would have hated to lose you as a reader, darlin'.

Johnny Be Good: Thanks for the review, amigo. Don't sweat the writer's or idea's block. I find that if you stop concentrating on something for a little while, step away from it for a time, the answer/idea will come to you. Just keep on reading and reviewing for me and I'll be thrilled. Ideas will come on their own.

Nataku's Wrath


	14. Get The Head!

"The Big Fat Kill"

"Get The Head!"

* * *

I'm rattling around in the cap of a beautifully restored 1940 Ford Coupe as it slips and slides around muddy corners and rockets along the straight stretches of barely-there back roads that just about nobody's used since the good old days of Prohibition and bootleggers. I'm doing my best to keep my stomach from jumping out of my mouth. I'm praying my companions can catch up with a pair of out-of-work-Irish-mutant terrorists-gone-freelance and get our hands on the severed head of a murdered hero asshole cop before the bastards can deliver it to the mob. 

My companions. Dani. Psylocke. A hooker and her assassin pal. Nobody'd call them the last hope of civilization, but they're my friends and you gotta stand up for your friends.

I suck back the dead cop's cigarettes one after another, end to end, nursing a chunk of hot gravel at the base of my throat and trying to calm down enough so I can think straight.

No more false moves. No more dumb mistakes. Stay smart. Stay cool. Stay steady. It's time to prove to your friends that you're worth a damn.

You gotta stand up for your friends. Sometimes that means dying. Sometimes it means killing a whole lot of people.

-X-

Dani fishtails onto an access road and tortures her old Ford across scattered bricks and pipes and potholes big as bathtubs.

Now we'll see if our little short cut's gotten us to the projects ahead of the out-of-towners we mean to murder.

She rolls over a large hill and I can see the bright lights of the Sin City skyline. Dani starts of roll down the hill and I have to hang on to the dash to keep from going through the windshield. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a pair of headlights coming along the street below us.

"There they are!" shouts Dani. "Whatta we do? Whatta we do?"

"We stop dem, Dani."

Wrong thing to say. Her nerves are shot.

"Stop them. Right. We'll step them." She floors it—the Ford's engine roars like some fierce jungle cat. "This'll stop them! DAMN! THIS'LL STOP 'EM GOOD!"

"DANI—NO!" I shout and brace myself as best I can in the cab.

The Ford flies down the hill and the horn blares from the terrorist's van.

Crazy broad! She'll get us all killed! I should've known—her nerves are shot—

CRASH!

We hit the terrorists' car head on, smashing into the passenger side fender. There's a sickening crunch of metal and breaking glass. Dani's Ford buckles and breaks, taking the worst of the hit. But she did her job. She stopped them. The solid steel front of the Ford slammed into the van and managed to flip it on its side.

Everything goes to pieces—pieces.

I fly through the windshield, the glass shattering all around me, cutting my arms and face. Jackie-Boy's head flies through the terrorist's windshield at the same time.

Time slows down as I fly through the air, Jackie-Boy's head so close to me I could almost reach out and grab it right then and there.

Then the ground smacks into my face and kicks the sense of out me.

-X-

Sparks in front of my eyes.

Machine gun clatter.

Dani dancing an ugly death dance and cursing the sons of bitches even as their bullets rip the life from her…

"Get the head, you stupid git!" shouts the terrorist Sean. "Get the head!"

"I got it—I got it!" shouts Moira as she inches out towards the street and Jackie-Boy's head. She grabs it by the greasy long hair and steps back towards the overturned van.

And while I watch and I fumble around the wet, muddy pavement like an infant child, Psylocke makes her move.

Deadly little Psylocke. She'll cut you quick. She'll kill you quiet.

You won't feel a thing, not unless she wants you to.

There's a flash of steel as a throwing star appears in her hand. The razor sharp disc whistles through the air and hits the girl-terrorist right above the eyes.

"Urk!" she yelps in surprise. The star slices through her skull like a hot knife in butter and the top of her head flops to the ground beside Jackie-Boy's head.

"Moira!" shouts Sean in horror as his partner falls to the ground. His face flushes red in anger and he starts to hyperventilate, sucking in massive lungfulls of air.

"Suck on this, you stupid slag!" And he screams.

In terms of raw decibels, a military jet on full afterburner would have been quieter. The scream covers the full range of ultra-high-frequency spectrum, and it sends waves of white-hot needles through my ears. The noise ripples the air as it closes in on Psylocke. The force of the sound wave slams into her and her face contorts in pain. She covers her hands over her ears and doubles over.

While writhing in pain, Psylocke didn't see the grenade land at her feet until it was already too late.

BOOM!

The grenade erupts in a fiery explosion and sends Psylocke hurtling over the remains of Dani's Ford and out of sight.

My ears are still ringing and I can barely see past the smoke and the sparks fighting a Star Wars dogfight in front of my eyes.

I can't tell if Psylocke is alive or dead.

But I'm finally on my feet and my knees don't buckle and every once of me want to get some killing done.

My hands dip into my coat pockets and handfuls of playing cards fill my hands. I whirl around to throw them at the terrorist scumbag for hire, but the Irish bastard is already down a manhole, Jackie-Boy's head in tow.

I run to the open manhole and the stench of the sewers slams into my nostrils. My stomach flip-flops in my throat as I stare at the darkness beneath my feet.

"Come on down, sweetheart," Sean's voice taunts me from the darkness. "You want the head, now don't you? Come on. It'll be fun."

Full of rage and heedless of the smell, I jump down the manhole, throwing cards as I fall. They make muffled explosions of energy and pink light as they detonate in the sewage.

SPLASH!

I land in waist deep water and go under for a second and try not to think what's actually in the water. I spin around, looking for the Irishman and Jackie-Boy's head.

"Brave lad," his voice calls from behind me. I twist around as Sean steps out of the shadows, holding what's left Jackie-Boy under one arm. "It's true I coulda put a bullet straight down your ear just now—that's if I hadn't got my revolver all wet and useless."

I whip new cards out of my pockets and cock my arm back, ready to blast the son of a bitch all the way back across the Atlantic if I have to.

"You got the drop on me, love. "I'm helpless as a baby," he says as he raises his free hand into the air. "I don't suppose you could find it in your heart to show a fella a bit of mercy, could you?"

Don't listen.

Aim careful.

Take him down fast.

I don't see the object in his free hand until it's too late.

_Chikk!_

KA-BOOM!

Sean depresses the trigger on a handheld detonator and a grenade goes off from under my feet.

"Gaaa!" I fly backwards and slam into the sewer walls. I land face first in a disgusting pile of god knows what and can hear the Irish terrorist for hire laughing in my ear.

"Haha! I gotta come clean with you, sweetheart. It was an outright lie I was givin' with, about my revolver bein' wet. Y'see, I'm not too fond of shootin'. It's much my preference to blow things up," he taunts right up and close to me. "Once you've blasted the roof off a pub and seen all the parts flyin' off people—a little bang-bang's never gonna match the sight of that!"

"And here I got me all these fine grenades," he stands in the small beam of light and proudly shows off the multiple grenades attached to his belt, "and such a sweet beauty of a remote. State of the art, it is." He raises the remote to his lips and gives it a peck like it's a long lost lover.

But the he puts the remote in his pocket and starts to hyperventilate again.

"But it's my voice I'll be doin' you with," he says menacingly. I gotta do you nasty. You killed my mates and my girl. Somebody shoulda told you never to give an Irishman good cause for revenge."

I'm still too out of it to do anything but watch as he starts to circle me like a vulture flying above a rotting carcass, still taunting, wasting time.

"You won't believe it, what me voice can do." He takes a deep, deep breath. "Here it comes, you bloody bastard!"

There's a quiet snap-hiss and Sean's banshee-like scream stops in the back of his throat.

"AARG-urk…" he croaks as the tip of a purple blade stabs through his back.

Deadly little Psylocke.

Her psychic blade cuts a hole straight through Sean's torso, burning away nerves and muscle and bones.

You won't feel a thing. Not unless she wants you to.

She twists the blade.

He feels it.

-X-

The storm kicks up a bigger fuss than ever as we climb out of the sewers. It's pounding, pummeling, drench-you-to-the-bone rain, deafening, blinding, end-of-the-world rain. The kind that doesn't hit Sin City more than once a year.

I smell to high heaven and I'm tired of getting' blown up and shot at all night, but I have the asshole cop's head back.

I hate the rain. It makes it so damn hard to think straight.

I shake the snot and a bit of leftover sewage and tar of my brain and think straight anyway.

I grab poor Dani's car phone and make the most important call of my life. Then I tell Psylocke what we're going to do and how we're gonna do it.

She smiles.

First, we gotta rescue Storm. Then comes the kill, the big, fat kill.

For a second or two, the wind and rain lays off for a minute and I almost think I can hear a cry, tiny, distant, and helpless.

Storm.

Ororo. Baby.

Just hang on a bit longer.

I have to wait.

I have to wait.

Christ…I can almost hear her scream…

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Sorry, I know this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but I wanted to tie it off and have the big, grand finale all by itself.

The epic conclusion of "The Big Fat Kill" just around the corner. Stick around everybody, the best is yet to come!

Reviewer Shout-outs!

Coldqueen: How you doin' darlin'? I'm glad you're digging the somewhat callous Gambit. I tried to combine Remy and Dwight's personalities make Gambit a little more menacing and just cruel enough then charming and flirty all the time. There's a time for flirtin' with the babes, and then there's a time for stickin' a knife in a man's guts. But don't worry, the ol' Cajun charm will reemerge next chapter. Until next time, your highness, I remain your servant lol.

Asylumescapee: kick ass pen name. I did consider using X-23 for Miho, but decided she was too much like Logan from my "A Hard Goodbye" chapters and Betsy just seemed, well more hookerish the X-23, like she would fit in a little better. Sage will be making an appearance in my next SIN CITY/X-Men fic: "A Dame to Kill For" with her old boss Sebastian Shaw. Keep an eye out for it; I'm starting it once I finish this one.

CatLadyinTraining: How are your cats? Colossus was my first, last, and only pick for Manute. I think because I had visions of the Russian Mafia or something. And I love seeing the supposed "Good Guys" being bad. I think that's why Wolverine was always my favorite character. As far as Juggernaut is/was concerned, he's just too damn powerful. I have a hard time mixing the mutant powers with the Sin City realism as it is and having an unstoppable force running around just makes/made things too complicated. But, he's the Juggernaut. I had to have him in there. So when I decided to use Black Tom and the other Irish mutants as terrorists, I found my loophole to work him in. Plus, I really wanted Gambit to blast someone into the tar pits. And let me know how I did with Sean's powers. They were tricky.

A Pen and a Piece of Mind: Thanks for reading. Stick around for the big ending!

NoOo NoOo Lebeau: Glad you brought yourself back from the dead again to leave a review. Very cool of you. Glad you love Betsy and Remy. Stick around to see how amazing they'll be in the ending.

The Frog Prince of Crime: As far as Siryn is concerned, I decided not to include her in my little den of Irish hoodlums. I think one sonically-induced mutant is enough for now. And I think I already used her as one of my Old Town whores. The ways Colossus was "killed" reflects events that happened in "A Dame to Kill for" so I'm kinda throwing out spoilers to my own work, but the hell with that, right? And watch out for Kitty. There's a nice curveball in the next chapter with her.

DarkWolfBlade: I'm glad I'm getting better with my tenses. That stuff is a pain in the ass. Hope you enjoy this chapter and keep letting me know when I screw that shit up. Things like that are just as helpful and wonderful as hearing how much you love my fic.

Retrimesuroth: Another chap for ya. Hope you enjoy. Stick around for the exciting conclusion (did that just make me sound like a TV promo guy or what! lol)

Stefbug: I'm glad you loved the last chapter and I hope you love this one just as much. Back story is one of the things I love most about novels. I always go out and buy the movie novelizations to movies and stuff just because they go into a million times more detail than any movie ever could. As far as writing goes, all I can say is keep practicing. Writing is like anything else; you just gotta keep at it and persevere. And I would be more than help to offer any assistance, if you were to need or want some.

Nataku's Wrath


	15. The Big Fat Kill

Here it is. The Epic and Exciting conclusion! Enjoy!

Nataku's Wrath

* * *

The Big Fat Kill

"The Big Fat Kill"

-X-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Storm screams in agony as steel fingers push and prod and dig into her neck, cheeks, and face.

She's tied to a wooden chair in an abandoned warehouse and Colossus, the giant mob enforcer, is standing behind her, torturing her with his massive hands. His steel fingers dig into her flawless skin, terrorizing her nerves while leaving her beautiful face unmarked and unblemished.

Twice she tried to use her elemental powers, but couldn't summon the concentration and focus to produce more than a little bit of static electricity and several flakes of snow.

Across the room, a pair of small time goons watched the torture like it was a Saturday afternoon movie.

"Yeesh…Do we gotta just stand here and watch this?" Manny, a short, fat man in desperate need of a shower and shave, asks his companion.

"You kidding, man?" says his tall, bald companion named Stuka. Stuka is a Neo-Nazi; he has a swastika tattooed in the middle of his forehead. "I could watch Piotr do his thang all night long and not get tired of it. The man's an artist. Just look at how that sweet, wide mouth of hers has gone all twisty and quivery…" he shivers in sadistic pleasure as Colossus digs his fingers deeper into Storm's checks.

"AAAAAAAAAA!" Storm screams again. Colossus pauses in his torture and leans his head down to Storm's ear.

"He's right, you know," he says. "I'm an artist. Can't you tell? Only an artist should be allowed to touch skin as beautiful as yours." He resumes his torture, spearing his steel fingers into the sensitive nerves in Storm's neck. "It takes an artist, just using his hands and not leaving any marks. And I didn't leave any marks on you at all. You're just as pretty as you were when you got here." He clamps down on her neck and Storm slumps forward in her chair. She doesn't pass out, but comes close.

"So now you see what I can do. And that's just using my hands," he chuckles to himself. "I haven't even opened my toolbox yet."

A door opens at the end of the empty room, casting a harsh light in the dark warehouse.

"Just give them what they want, Storm. I can't stand seeing you like this," says a soft, feminine voice from the doorway.

The voice pulls Storm out of the pain filled haze. "Huh? Kitty?" she questions, completely and hopelessly confused.

"It's over Storm," Kitty says coldly as she walks up to where Storm is tied up. "There's no fighting them. Those Irish soldiers called in, like, less than an hour ago. Gambit's dead. They got what's left of that cop we killed. The mob's gonna turn it over to the police chief. The cops are gonna mow us down. Piotr promised to cut us a deal."

Storm's eyes flash with anger. "Kitty. It was you! You little bitch! It was you! You sold us out!"

"I had to!" Kitty shouts right back. "I like didn't have any choice! They were going to hurt my mom! Don't make this any worse on me than it already is."

"Breaks yer heart, don't it?" jokes Manny as he and Stuka share a chuckle from the corner.

"I know you're mad at me, Storm. I know you're really sore," says Kitty honestly and meekly. "But what's done is done and there's nothing nobody can do about it. You gotta be reasonable. You gotta cut a deal with these people."

Kitty gets right in Storm's face and her voice takes a hard edge to it. "It's selfish, you holding out like this," she scolds Strom. "You're gonna get a lot of girls killed and for no good reason."

Storm's blue eyes faded into pure white orbs of barely contained fury. Sparks of electricity dance from her eyes and cackle in front of Kitty's face.

"Storm—damn it—you stop staring at me like that!" she screams. "I can't stand it, you staring at me like that! You know how much I love you and the other girls! You're like sisters to me! But it was my mom! They was gonna hurt my mom!"

"You're so full of shit," growls Strom. "We could've protected your mom. You know that. It was the money. You sold us out like Judas, you little bitch. I'll kill you!" Storm lashes against the ropes pinning her against the chair. Kitty jumps back, retreating to the protective arms of Colossus. Storm forgets about using her powers; she wants to rip Kitty apart with her own two hands. But the ropes hold her tightly and she soon tires herself out. She looks at Kitty and Colossus, at how close the two are, and it all clicks in her head.

"So how much money is your Communist boyfriend paying you?" asks Storm with a hint of laughter. "Is he paying you for sex or just to sell us out?"

Kitty left Colossus' side and slaps Storm in the face as hard as she could. The slap echoes through the empty warehouse and a red handprint begins to grow on Storm's already aching cheeks.

"Sure there's money!" Kitty shouts, her high-pitched voice reverberating throughout the room. "Like, a whole lot of money! Sure you coulda protected my mom! Sure! You could have moved her into Old Town and let her know her daughters a goddamn whore!"

Colossus slowly walks behind the still screaming Kitty, his skin returning back to normal flesh instead of steel.

"Piotr offered me what you couldn't never offer me!" shouts Kitty, pointing at Colossus. "He offered me a way out! He cares for me, he loves me! He doesn't use me like you use all the girls in Old Town! He offered me a way out and I took it!"

Kitty balls up a tiny fist and hits Storm again. A dull, wet packing sound fills the room. "Maybe that makes me a traitor or something, but I didn't have any choice!" she shouts and hits Storm a third time. "I hadda watch out for my own neck!" she screams, her face inches away from Storm's.

"Your neck your neck your precious scrawny little neck…" Storm roars and she snaps her head forward, stretching her long neck, and sinking her teeth into Kitty's soft neck.

CHOMP!

Storm's sudden attack catches Kitty off guard and gives Storm a chance to inflict real damage on Kitty before she could use her powers. Storm's teeth cut deeply into Kitty's white throat before Kitty phases away.

WHAM!

Colossus' massive fist slams into Storm sending her flying across the room. Kitty stumbles to the ground, holding her neck, blood seeping through her fingers.

"Crazy. You're crazy! Coulda ripped my throat out, you crazy whore!"

"You'll get worse. I swear it. You little bitch!" hisses Storm from the floor, Kitty's blood dripping from her mouth.

"ENOUGH!" bellows Colossus as his flesh transforms back into organic steel. "Manny—fetch my tools. Stuka—kill this one," he gestures to Kitty.

"NO!" she screams in terror and confusion.

"Stupid bitch," cries Storm almost triumphantly. "You deserve worse."

"But I was promised…Piotr…you said you loved me…that you'd take care of me!" Kitty wails to Colossus.

"Forgive me, Katya. I lied," Colossus sneers coldly. "Stuka."

Stuka pulls a large revolver out of the waistband of his leather pants. "I knew there was a reason I got outta bed this morning!" he cheers. "Mind if I take her someplace private?" he asks Colossus as he cocks the gun. "Ain't everyday a fella gets an opportunity like this dropped in his lap."

He levels the gun at Kitty, her eyes wide in terror.

THUNK!

Out of nowhere, a purple arrow crashes through the window and pierces through Stuka's chest.

-X-

Outside in the pouring rain…

Psylocke stood unmoving, letting the rain wash away the leftover tar from her skin and wash the stench of the sewer off her kimono. She looks down from her perch atop a nearby rooftop into the abandoned warehouse. She saw Kitty hitting Storm and Storm biting Kitty back. She wants to run down the building and into that warehouse when she saw Colossus hit Storm across the room.

But she waits. She waits for Gambit's signal.

A playing card, pulsing with kinetic energy, floats up to the rooftop and explodes in a puff of harmless smoke.

Psylocke reaches down and picks up a powerful short bow from the ground. Drawing back an arrow, purple energy races up and down Psylocke's arm and into the arrowhead.

She lets go.

The psychic arrow flies through the air with a high-pitched whistle and spears through the warehouse window and pierces through Stuka's chest.

THUNK!

"Hey…" he yelps in surprise.

Colossus' hired goons scramble to the windows, looking for the shooter.

"Nobody! I don't see nobody!"

Stuka was still standing, inspecting the arrow in his chest.

"Will ya look at that? It's right through me," he says in shock. "Guys. Look. It cut a hole right through me."

Manny walks towards Stuka, staring at the wound. "There's something wrapped around it," he calls out. "Some kind of note."

"Give it to me," orders Colossus. Manny quickly unties the note from the arrow and hands it to Colossus.

"Guys. This is starting to really hurt. Just look at it. It's poked right through me." Stuka looks around the room, but no one was paying any attention to him. "Guys?"

Colossus ignores Stuka and unravels the note attached to the arrow.

**THE COP'S HEAD FOR THE WOMAN, OUT BACK.**

**Your pal,**

**Gambit**

"Gambit. You fool," Colossus mutters under his breath.

"Guys? Don't you think maybe somebody oughtta call a doctor for me or something?" asks Stuka, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. "This isn't the kind of thing you just ignore, guys."

"Out back. Everyone. Bring the women," orders Colossus. The troops quickly filed out of the room, heading for the back alley. Manny grabs Kitty roughly by the arm and half-drags her away. Colossus casually grabs the back of the chair Storm is tied to and carries her out with him.

"Uh, hello?" Stuka whimpers all alone in the abandoned room. "Guys?"

Outside, Psylocke watches the troupe of mob goons and enforcers stomp out of the warehouse. A small smile creeps across her tight lips.

Turning her attention back to the empty room, Psylocke notches another arrow and leaps from the rooftop.

KTANGG!

The arrow flies through the air, crashes through another window, and pierces through Stuka's neck.

"Urk…" he utters before falling to the ground.

-X-

Out Back.

Dozens of them file out of the warehouse.

Dozens of them. All armed to the teeth.

I wait for them at the end of the alley, standing on a pile of old junk metal, Jackie-Boy's head in my hand.

I'm outnumbered.

Outgunned.

But the alley is crooked. Dark. And very, very narrow.

Funneled into it, they get in each other's way. They can't surround me. Their numbers don't count for so much.

Sometimes you can be the odds—with a careful choice of where to fight.

I hold Jackie-Boy's head up like a trophy; duct tape wrapped around the asshole's mouth.

Colossus and his men reach the end of the alley and a dozen guns cock all at once.

"Y'all can have Old Town. Gambit don't care. Just give Gambit de woman," I shout.

"Mmmmmmmph mmm mmmph…" Jackie-Boy tries to say something beneath the duct tape.

"You shut up, Jackie-Boy," I whisper to the head.

"Remy—don't do this…" shouts Storm.

"Of course, Gambit," interrupts Colossus. "A fair trade. She's all yours."

Colossus motions to one of his goons and he unties Storm. She tries to run to me, but Colossus grabs her arm, stopping her.

"The head," he orders.

I hand Jackie-Boy's head to another mob soldier and Colossus lets go of Storm. She runs up the pile of assorted junk I'm standing on and dives into my arms. The feel of her body so close to mine stirs feelings inappropriate for a man and a woman with a few dozen guns trained on their faces.

Kitty is standing off to the side, still with Manny. She watches as the head passes by her.

"Wait a minute…something's not right…" she says.

"Shut up or I'll plug ya," threatens Manny.

The soldier carrying the head steps away from me and presents the head to Colossus. The big Russian smiles as he pulls two ridiculously large handguns out of his jacket.

"Thank you," he smiles as he levels the guns at Storm and me. "Now perhaps you'll explain why it is we shouldn't blow you both to pieces?"

Storm looks up at me and I can see the first sign of worry and fear in her eyes.

"Remy—what have you done?"

"Everything I had to, Ororo. Every step of the way."

The man with the head walks past Kitty. She stares closer at the head, the phases out of Manny's grip. She runs towards Colossus and grabs onto his massive steel arm.

"No! It's not right, Piotr! Like, there wasn't any tape over his mouth! How come there's tape over his mouth?"

Colossus looks at her and then at the head. Then he notices the faint red light blinking underneath the tape. He turns back to me and raises his guns to fire.

Too late.

It was a good trick, the one that Irish terrorist Sean used on me. Hide the grenade and conceal the remote. No one saw the remote in my hand.

Not until I hit the trigger.

_Click_!

BOOM!

Jackie-Boy's head explodes in a gooey messy of eyeballs, bone, and very little brains. The only thing remaining of the goon carrying it was a pair of sneakered feet.

The powerful explosion rocks Colossus and all his men. The big Russian is covered in blood and bits of pink matter.

"A cute trick, Gambit, but it will do you no good." He levels his guns at us again.

I raise a finger and point up at the rooftops behind him. Colossus turns and the steel orbs serving as eyes open wide.

"NO! GAMBIT, YOU SHIT!"

Where to fight. It counts for a lot.

But there's nothing like having your friends show up with lots of guns.

-X-

Sudden thunder.

The girls of Old Town all now the score. I made it plain as hell to Yukio when I called her and she passed it on. They know what we gotta do.

No escape.

No surrender.

No mercy.

We gotta kill every rat bastard one of them.

Every last one.

Not for revenge. Not because they deserve it. Not because it'll make the world a better place. There's nothing righteous or noble about it.

We gotta kill them because we need them dead.

We need a heap of bloody bodies so when The Kingpin looks over his charts of profits and losses he'll see what it cost him to mess with the girls of Old Town.

The girls with guns unload on the alley, spraying everything that moves with bullets. The girls with powers unleash a torrent of fireballs and energy beams and everything else you could think of at the mobsters.

I charge entire decks of playing cards, turning them into handheld bombs, and spray them all over the alley. Explosions of kinetic energy maim and kill goons left and right.

As soon as the firing started, Manny lets go of Kitty and worried more about the rain of death coming down from above. Kitty runs for cover, phasing through bodies and bullets and balls of fire. She nearly makes it to the far wall when exhaustion racks her body. Losing focus for just an instant, a bullet tears through her arm. Fiery pain shoots up and down her arm and she falls to her knees. Crawling, she manages to find a small alcove to hide in. In too much pain to phase through the wall, she watches the blood bath.

Some of the mob soldiers in the back were able to avoid the initial massacre and had the good sense to run while they had the chance. Dropping their guns, they turn and run back towards the empty warehouse.

Psylocke is waiting for them.

With a _snap-hiss_, her psychic blades erupt from her hands and she cuts a bloody swathe through the men, hacking and slicing and killing. She dodges bullets and throws razor sharp shuriken stars.

She gets her practice in.

Colossus stood tall amidst the piles of broken and bloody bodies; bullets and energy blasts bouncing harmlessly off his steel skin.

"Hey Tin Man!"

He turns his attention to the Goddess at my side and trembles.

Storm's white eyes dance with electricity and she holds her hands skyward. She calls lightning down from the skies and shapes it into a ball over her head until that ball is as massive as the piece of shit T-Bird those dizzy dames pinned on me earlier.

"Do you know what happens when lightning strikes a massive steel conductor?" she laughs at the Russian. She hurtles the ball of lightning at Colossus and smiles gleefully as the lightning ball strikes him in the chest, burning away his steel flesh as if it was paper. A high-pitched scream fills the air as Colossus burns to a crisp.

The thunder doesn't stop. We fire and attack and fire and attack and watch their heads explode from playing cards or lightning bolts and watch their guts fly like butchers scraps and the alley walls get caked with wet wads of skin and meat and the smokes gets so think that the things we're all pumping bullets and energy blasts into are nothing but twisted toppling screaming smudges of movement.

The Valkyrie at my side is shouting and laughing with the pure hateful bloodthirsty joy of the slaughter and so am I.

And when all the killings done, I grab her around the waist and press my lips onto hers, blasting away all the blood, all the pain we've built up over the night. Sparks of pink kinetic energy and white lightning dance across our lips. Like fire.

She'll always be mine.

My warrior woman, my Valkyrie. She'll always be mine; I'll always love her, even though I never will. Always and never.

The fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. There's no place in this world for our kind of fire.

Always and never.

-X-

It's almost dawn by the time I crawl back to Rogue's apartment. I'm dog tired and dirty, covered in tar and sweat and the stench of sewage and blood, but I'm alive.

I raise my hand to knock on her door when it flies open and a hand grabs me by the collar of my duster and yanks me inside. She's still just wearing one of my shirts and a pair of panties. This time I take the moment and think about how sexy she looks in them.

I open my mouth to say something, but Rogue's lips mash into mine before any words come out.

Heaven. Not like my Valkyrie's fire, but better. It's deeper, stronger than any inferno of raw passion. It wipes away all the terrible memories from the night: talking to Jackie-Boy's head, drowning in the Tar Pits, getting shot up blown up and smashed, and having to kill a whole lot of people. She takes it all away with one long kiss, wiping it away like it was a bad dream.

But then she breaks it and puts on her gloves and I know I'm going to get it.

"Where in da hell have you been all night?" she shouts at me as she takes off her protective anklet.

"I…"

I didn't even form a full sentence before she rears back and punches me in the face. She pulls her punch, but not a whole lot. She settles for smashing in my cheek and bloodying my eye and nose instead of knocking my head clear off.

"First, ya let me get slapped around by Jackie-Boy and his pals, then ya scare them off and jump out mah window like you're Superman or something. Ya leave me here worryin' about ya all night long and then ya have the nerve to come back lookin' and smellin' like the swamp rat you are!"

"Remy's sorry, Chere," I tell her in the sweetest voice I can muster. "I didn't mean to worry you so. Remy think it's kinda sweet you worryin' so much bout him."

Rogue's fist pulls back to belt me again, but she stops and her hands drop to her sides.

"Oh, Remy," she sighs as she slips her anklet back on and takes her gloves off. "What am Ah gonna do with ya?"

I wipe the blood off my face and give her my most charming smile. "Why don't you take Remy back to bed and he'll tell you all about his little adventure?"

She smiles at me. "Oh no. There's no way Ah'm lettin' your smelly swamp rat ass back in my bed like this. You go get in the shower first."

"Care to join me, Chere?" I offer. Her push in the direction of the bathroom says no.

A hot shower can do wonders for a tired and aching body. Especially one that's had its ass kicked and did some ass kicking all night like mine. Especially when Rogue changes her mind, peels back the shower curtain, and steps in with me.

The End

--X--

Epilogue

"Yes. Oh Mom, don't go on like that," Kitty whines into her cell phone. She's walking down the hall of Basin City Memorial Hospital, her arm in a sling. The doctors did a good job patching up her arm, although she had to constantly stop herself from phasing out of the bandages.

"It's not the city," she tells her mom through the cell phone. "I could've gotten in a traffic accident anywhere." A lie of course, but far better than the truth. "Yeah, just a fracture. Doctor said it's a clean break. It should be right as rain in no time."

Kitty reaches the elevator and has to pause in her conversation to press the button.

A few seconds later, the doors open and Kitty steps onto the elevator. A young, handsome doctor is already inside, reading a file of some kind. Kitty presses the button for the ground floor, listening to her mother rant on how dangerous it is for her to be living in the city.

"Un-huh. Yeah Mom," she says into the phone automatically, not really listening to her mother rant about how bad her living the city was. Her eyes sweep over the doctor. Blonde hair, blue eyes under small wire frame glasses, athletically built, with the lightest trace of stubble on his cheeks. He was wearing one of those long white lab coats doctors always wear in hospitals. The coat seemed a little big for the doctor and it was all bunched up in the back.

The doctor looks up from his file and catches Kitty staring at him. She quickly faces front, going back to the conversation with her mom.

The doctor smiles and removes his glasses, tucking them into his pocket. He digs into the fold of his coat and produces an open pack pf cigarettes.

"Kitty," he says softly. She turns at the sound of her name and looks at him, confused.

"Care for a smoke?" he asks kindly.

Warning bells go off in Kitty's head.

'What kind of doctor offers cigarettes to patients inside the hospital? How does he know my name?'

She studies his face and figure again. He looks even handsomer without the glasses on. She concentrates so much on his looks she almost misses the single white feather falling to the elevator floor just behind his legs.

Good looks. White feather. Bulges under jacket back.

Terrible realization spreads over Kitty as she stares at the doctor.

Her mom repeats something over again on the cell phone. Kitty barely catches her mother's "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom," Kitty replies into her phone as heartfelt as she could make it.

Her cell phone closes with a sharp _clink_.

_Phew_!

The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot. The specially made bullet is too dense for Kitty to phase through and it hits her in the center of her throat.

The doctor stands over her while she dies, watching as her bright blue eyes fade with death, ignoring her silent pleas for help and mercy.

When it's all over, the doctor removes his white lab coat and unfurls his large, angelic wings. Stretching them out as much as the small elevator would allow, he opens an escape hatch built into the elevator's ceiling. He climbs out and closes the hatch behind him.

_Ding_! 

The elevator doors open and he hears a woman scream at the sight of Kitty's bloody body. He smiles inside the elevator shaft before flapping his wings and soaring up to the roof.

"Another day, another dollar," Angel says as he flies away, laughing to himself.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

There it is, "The Big Fat Kill" is officially finished. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Up next my X-Men/SIN CITY universe: "A Dame to Kill For." I've already started to cast it and have begun writing out the first chapter. I'll be posting it in a separate story entitled "A Dame to Kill For" so watch for it or just get one of those author alert thingies for me set up. Hopefully, I'll have the first chapter posted before school starts in a few weeks. After that, the continuation of Scott Summer's story: "That Yellow Bastard" will be under this title. So keep your eyes open and, as always, read and review!

Until then,

Nataku's Wrath

Reviewer Shout-outs!

DarkWolfBlade: I also loved that scene with Psylocke in the sewers. It was so merciless and badass. I hope you like my ending and that you read my next installment as well.

Coldqueen: I'm glad you noticed that I wasn't making Gambit an all-Ororo guy, my dear queen. The idea was that Rogue was his current love and Ororo was an affair from the past. So while he loves Rogue very much, he also has all these past feelings for Ororo that get dragged back to the surface when he encounters her in Old Town. I felt it necessary to make sure that Gambit went back to Rogue at the end of the story. Yeah, he may wander a bit every now and then, but his heart truly belongs with Rogue. I hoped you enjoyed the ending, darlin', and I hope you keep reading my work. Means a lot to me.

Johnny Be Good: I'm glad you like the casting. It was always the hardest part, making sure I got characters to fit in the right roles, although I did play around with one or two just for fun, like Colossus.

CatLadyinTraining: Sorry bout your cat. Colossus was my first pick for Manute just based on looks. Aside from being black, Colossus is almost a dead ringer for Manute in size and strength. The inner good-guy he has was another reason I chose him. I like taking good guys and making them bad, like I did with Xavier in "The Hard Goodbye." I knew people, well at least most people, would never see Colossus coming. Plus I wanted to do the whole Kitty and Piotr love/betrayal scene. I never really liked them as a couple, well I never really liked Kitty at all. As far as Sean AKA Banshee, I never even thought about making people's heads explode. That might have been fun. Maybe I should have done that to Dani…

NoOo NoOo Lebeau: Did Remy come out as Prince Charming? I hope so. Hope you liked my ending and thanks for reading and reviewing.

Burningnostalgia: I'm glad you enjoyed me showing the softer side of Gambit when it came to his concern over others. I tried to make sure I balanced it out with Psylocke just being a hardcore badass.

BlkDiamond: You know there's a really good song by KISS called Black Diamond. Just thought I'd throw that out there for shits and giggles. Glad you like the fic, keep on reading and watch for my next one.

The Frog Prince of Crime: I felt a little bad, killing off Dani without ever giving her much pull in the story, but tough luck right? Sean was a bit tough since I had very little experience with him in any form of the X-Men be it comics, movies, cartoon, whatever. Basically I knew he was the screaming guy. But I'm glad you think I did a good job. Thanks and keep on reading and reviewing.

Retrimesuroth: Every time I type your penname, I have to check it 2-3 times to make sure I spell it right. Glad you're "Lovin'it" (now I sound like a McDonald's comerical lol). I hope you went out and bought the SIN CITY dvd. I would recommend spending the extra bucks and getting the extended edition. The additional scenes and all the documentaries and special features stuff are worth it. I'm sorry to say that the rest of Summer's story won't be written until after I do "A Dame to Kill For". I guess you could say I'm on a Remy kick right now or something. But I promise it will be good so check it out once I post it.

Elfkid: Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm very happy and quite honored you feel so highly of my humble work. I too have had problems with the whole email alert system and find it often unreliable. My only recommendation is to check the profile pages of your favorite authors often, I check them almost daily to see if any new work has been posted. This can sadly be a bit disappointing, as it seems most authors don't post as often as I check, but I never miss an update on my favorite stories now. Thanks again and I look forward to hearing from you again in Dame.

To all my readers, those who review or not, I thank you all for reading my work this far and hope to see you all soon.

Nataku's Wrath


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